Skip to main content

Full text of "The Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress"

See other formats






Library Association* 

Book -r-t=x-^f-^. 

Volume — -?rf^ 



Accession No- . »*v>V 



A New Hampshire Magazine 








Published, 1904 

By the Granite Monthly Company 

Concord, N. H. 

Printed and Illustrated by the 

Rumford Printing Company (Rum/ord Press) 

Concord, AVtc Hn>n.fishire, U. S. A. 

The Granite Monthly. 


yiily — December, igo^. 

Ayres, Philip W., Thk Poorest Situation in New Hampshire and How to 
Change It ......... 

Baynes, Ernest Harold, George I. Putnam .... 

Beede, Eva J., Midsu.mmer {poem) ...... 

Blake, Amos J., Sketch of the Life and Character of Col. Amos A. Parker 
Boody, Louis Milton, The Front Fence ..... 

Brown, Gilbert Patten, John Stark, the Hero of Bennington 
Buflfum, Jesse H.. Dempsey's Trick ...... 

Carr, Laura Garland, A Fact {poem) . . . 

Chesley, Charles Henry, On the Tide {poetn) .... 

Clough, William O., Crayon Portrait of Abraham Lincoln . 
Colby, H. B., A Glass of Ale ....... 

Charles C. Hayes ........ 

Dempsey's Trick, Jesse H. BuiTum ...... 

Editorial Notes : 

An Automobile Law ....... 

Road Improvements under State Supervision . 
Some Lessons from the Berlin, N. H., Fire . 
Road Improvement in of Our Smaller Towns 

Fact, A {poem) , Laura Garland Carr ...... 

Farr, Ellen Burpee, Our "Old Home Week"' {poem) 
Forest Situation in New Hampshire, The, and I low to Change 
W. Ayres .......... 

Front Fence, The, Louis Milton Boody ..... 

Glass of Ale, A, H. B. Colbv 

H., A. H., The Hope Plant {poem) .... 

Hayes, Charles C, H. B. C 

Hope Plant, The {poem), A. H. H 

Leslie, H. G., M. D., Shoreline Sketches — Thanksgiving 
Lincoln, Abraha.m, Crayon Portrait of, William O. Clough 



















4»'3 5'i 



Midsummer {poem), Eva J. Beede ......... 87 

On the Tide {poem), Charles Henry Chesley . . . . • 17 

Our "Old Home Week" {poetn), Ellen Burpee Farr ..... 57 

Parker, Col. Amos A., Sketch of the Life and Character of, Amos J. 

Blake, Esq. . . . . . . . . . . . .104 

Putnam, George I., Ernest Harold Baynes ....... 49 

Roberts, Col. James, of Berwick, Maine, John Scales . . . . . 2,-j 

Sanborn, F. B., of Concord, Massachusetts, History and Poetry from the 

Life of . . . 19, 77, iii 

Scales, John, Col. James Roberts of Berwick, Maine ..... 37 

Shoreline Sketches — Thanksgiving, H. G. Leslie, M. D 59 

Stark, John, the Hero of Bennington, Gilbert Patten Brown  •  73 

State Highway Work in the White Mountains, John W. Storrs ... 95 

Storrs, John W., State Highway Work in the White Mountains . 59 

T., A., Vanitas Vanitatu.m (^poetn) . . . 43 

Vanitas Vanitatum {poem), A. T. . . . . . . -43 


The Granite Monthly. 

Vol. XXXVir. 

JULY, 1904. 

No. 1. 

View From Clock Tower. 


With pictures from the plant of the Frank Jones Brewing Company, Portsmouth, N. H. 

By H. B. Colby. 

Ale is a decoction of barley to 
which is added a certain quantity of 
hops and yeast, and is then allowed to 
ferment to a given degree, when it is 
drawn off into barrels and permitted 
to age perfectly before it is ready for 
the use of the consumer. 

It has been made in some form or 
other since the very earliest ages of 
which we have any reliable record; 
for we find that the Egyptians made 
a decoction of barley which was used 
as a beverage more than five thousand 
years ago, according to the estimates 
of the most eminent Egyptologists of 
the present day. It played a most 
important part in their mythology 
and is mentioned in the ' ' Book of the 
Dead, ' ' which is the record of the an- 
cient Egyptian kings, and which book 
is at the least five thousand years old. 

It would appear from these records 
that barley must have furnished a 
national beverage for many years be- 
fore that book's earliest date. It is 
also related that Osiris, about 2017 B. 
C, found "barley-wine" in the 
Egyptian city of Pelusium; again, we 
are told, in another place, that about 
3000 B. C, in the Nile land, four 
kinds of beer were known. 

Herodotus (484 B. C.) speaks only 
of a barley-wine known to the 
Egyptians, and even asserts that the 
grape was not found on the soil of 
Egypt. A native of Greece, where 
the grape has been cultivated since 
dim ages of the past and where wine 
drinking was ever the universal cus- 
tom, Herodotus was plainly an entire 
stranger to the Egyptian juice of 
barlev. He relates: "Their beverage 


Private Railway in Brewery Yard. 

is a wine prepared by them from bar- 
ley, there being no grapes in their 
country." Pliny (23 A. D.), speak- 
ing of the Egyptian drink, says that 
it is made from grain soaked in 
water; and, as a wine-drinking Ro- 
man, he deplores the fact that so 
much skill is wasted in the production 
of so light a beverage. That it was 
made from malted grain is not alone 
shown by the various designations of 
barley, but also by the discovery of 
harley-malt in the ruins of ancient 
Egypt. In this connection we find 
no mention at all of hops, so it is 
most probable that they used pungent 
roots and certain spices for the flavors 
to suit the popular taste. 

The formulas for the making of 
barley-wine, and many variations of 
the same, were evidently carried 
gradually from one country to an- 
other, by occasional travelers and by 
the incessant invasions of warring 
armies, and in due course of time 

reached England, where its manufac- 
ture attained such absolute perfection 
of brewing that the "Ale of Merrie 
England" has been for many years 
the standard of quality. By the be- 
ginning of the reign of Henry II the 
English were greatly addicted to the 
use of ale. The waters of Burton- 
on-Trent began to be famous in the 
thirteenth century. The secret of 
their being so especially adapted' for 
brewing purposes was first discovered 
by some monks, who have ever been 
celebrated in poetry and painting as 
good and great drinkere, and the mon- 
asteries were remarkable for the 
strength and purity of their ales, 
brewed from malt prepared by the 
monks with great care and skill. 

A record still extant and bearing 
date of 1295 (think of it), bears wit- 
ness of a re-lease of certain lands and 
tenements in the adjacent neighbor- 
hood of Wetmore to the abbot and 
convent of Burton-on-Trent at a daily 


rental, during the life of the lessor, 
of two white loaves from the monas- 
tery, two gallons of conventual beer, 
and one penny, besides seven gallons 
of beer for the men. The brewers of 
Biirton-on-Trent are more famous to- 
day than ever before. INIiehael 
Thomas Bass, who died in 1884, was 
noted for his industry, integrity, abil- 
ity, and public liberality (especially 
to religious and educational works). 
For thirty-three years he also repre- 
sented Derby in the British parlia- 
ment. ]\Iichael Arthur, his eldest 
son, succeeded him in the manage- 
ment of the business. His parlia- 
mentary career commenced in 1865 
and he was created a peer, under the 
title of Lord Burton, during the last 
Gladstone administration. 

Beer was brought from old Eng- 
land to New England by the passen- 
gers on the Mayflower, and we find in 
Young's "Chronicles of the. Pil- 
grims," that, after a two days' pur- 
suit of Indians on Cape Cod, they 
stood much in need of fresh water. 

"for we brought neither beer nor 
water with us from the ship, and our 
only victuals was biscuit and Holland 
cheese and a little bottle of brandy. ' ' 
And later when on board ship they 
were debating as to the advisability 
of establishing a permanent settle- 
ment on Cape Cod, the same record 
says : ' ' We had yet some beer, butter, 
flesh, and other victuals left, which 
would quickly be all gone; and then 
we should have nothing to comfort us. 
. . . So in the morning, after we had 
called on God for direction, we came 
to this resolution — to go presently 
ashore again and to take a better 
view of two places which we thought 
most fitting for us; for we could not 
now take time for further search or 
consideration, our victuals being 
much spent, especially our beer, and 
it being now the 19th of December." 
Later we find: "Monday, the 25th, 
1620, being Christmas day, we began 
to drink water aboard. But, at 
night, the master caused us to have 
some beer, but on shore none at all." 

Store where Ale is Matured. 


A Floor in the Mal.t House. 

A year later, one of the Pilgrims 
writing to a friend in England, tells 
him, in shipping goods for the colony : 
**Let your casks for beer be iron- 
bound. ' ' But so far as I can find out 
there is no record of the arrival of 
this beer in any kind of casks. One 
John Jenny, a brewer by trade, came 
to Plymouth in 1623, and was the 
first of the craft to arrive in New 
England; he worked a corn mill but 
it is not recorded that he ever brewed 
in the colony. The colonists of Mas- 
sachusetts Bay were more successful 
in their shipments from the old coun- 
try, for, early in 1629, the British 
Court of Assistants sent to th(^n, on 
the Talbot, forty-five tuns of beer and 
four hundredweight of hops. Thir- 
ty quarters of malt were sent after- 
wards in another ship. Samuel 
Wentworth of Portsmouth obtained 
the first license to brew beer in New 
Hampshire in 1670, but the difficulty 
in obtaining barley caused the trade 
to languish for many years. 

In 1854 John Swindels, an English- 
man, came to Portsmouth, N. H., and 

started a brewery on Bridge St., but 
soon moved to Market St. Swindels 
was a thorough master of the art of 
brewing and made a good quality of 
ale, but he lacked the business capac- 
ity essential to success, so in 1856 he 
sold an interest in the brewery to 
Frank Jones, and in 1861 Mr. Jones 
purchased the balance of the business 
and started The Frank Jones Brew- 
ing Co., which began with an annual 
output of only five thousand three 
hundred barrels, and is to-day one of 
the largest ale and porter plants in 
the United States. 

Frank Jones was born in Barring- 
ton, September 15, 1832, and was the 
fifth of seven children of Thomas and 
Mary (Priest) Jones. Thomas Jones, 
a thrifty and well-to-do farmer of 
Barrington, was one of fourteen chil- 
dren of Peltiah Jones, a successful 
sea captain who, born in Wales and 
emigrating to this country with his 
parents in infancy (his father dying 
on the passage), was in early life 
placed by his mother in the service of 
the well-known Portsmouth navigator, 


Captain Sheafe, by whom he was 
trained in the occupation which he 
followed for many years, becoming a 
ship owner as well as master. The 
War of 1812 made navigation danger- 
ous, and, during its progress, he 
availed liimself of a favorable oppor- 
tunity to sell both ship and cargo, and 
with the proceeds purchased the farm 
in Barrington, which became known 
as the Jones homestead, and subse- 
quently came into the possession of 
Thomas, who, inheriting the Welsh 
characteristics of perseverance and 
sagacity, aided hj the Scotch thrift 
and intelligence of his wife, a daugh- 
ter of Capt. Joseph Priest of Notting- 
ham, added largely to his possessions, 
and accumulated a handsome proper- 
ty for a New Hampshire farmer of 
that day. With the characteristic 
independence of the New England 
youth his sons started out early in 

he obtained his father's consent to 
strike out for himself and, putting his 
clothing in a bundle, he started on 
foot for Portsmouth, a city with 
which he was alreadj" somewhat 
familiar, having driven in more than 
once with charcoal, wood, or farm 
products for the city market, in the 
disposal of which he learned his first 
lessons in trade and business life. 
Here his elder brother, Hiram, was 
already well established in the stove 
and hardware business, with several 
men in his employ, most of whom 
engaged in peddling his lighter wares 
through the surrounding towns. 
Frank went to work for his brother, 
and shortly made a contract with him 
for three years' service, receiving a 
thousand dollars for the full time, 
most of which he spent as a peddler. 
The knowledge of human nature, and 
the varied characteristics of men, 

A Mash-tun. 

life to make their own way in the 
world. It w^as the desire of his 
parents that Frank should remain at 
home upon the farm; but the young 
man's ambitious spirit was not satis- 

which he gained during his three 
years' experience, proved of vast ad- 
vantage in his future business career. 
His father had endeavored to secure 
his return home, but his brother's 

fied in any such circumscribed sphere promise to receive him as a partner in 
of action. In his seventeenth year the business at the expiration of the 



A Copper. 

contract was a teniptatiou too strong 
to be resisted. "When reminded of 
his promise, after his contract had 
expired, his brother tried to persuade 
him to continue in his employ, offer- 
ing him a cash present of one thou- 
sand dollars and a thousand dollars 
a year for a term of five years. This, 
at that time, was a most tempting 
offer for a youth of twenty years, and 
he thought at first to accept it; but, 
upon returning to the store, after a 
brief visit to his parents, he was for- 
cibly struck with the thought that if 
his brother could afford to make him 
such an offer the business was suffi- 
ciently profitable to make an interest 
therein desirable, and he determined 
to insist on the original agreement, 

which was accordingly carried out, 
and he became a partner with his 
brother in a large and well established 
business in January, 1853. Already 
thoroughly conversant with the prac- 
tical details of the business, he 
devoted himself thereto with all the 
energy of his nature, and the follow- 
ing autumn his brother, being in ill 
health, sold him his interest, leaving 
him, at twenty-one years of age, the 
sole proprietor. He continued the 
business with eminent success until 
1861, when lie sold out, for the pur- 
pose (as we have already stated) of 
devoting his undivided energies to the 
management of the brewery. 

Under his guiding hand the busi- 
ness grew more prosperous and lucra- 

Good Yeast. 

Poor Yeast. 


tive, and many improvements and 
additions were projected and carried 
out by Mr. Jones. To bring and 
keep the quality of his ale up to the 
highest point of excellence was Mr. 
Jones' object from the outset, and he 
consequently determined to produce 
his own malt. So, in 1863, the Com- 
pany built a large malt house, with a 
capacity of eighty thousand bushels. 
The business increased steadily and 
they enlarged this house in 1868 ; 

ter in the United States were built, 
and other improvements have since 
been made on a like scale, important 
among which should be mentioned the 
extensive bottling works erected in 
1900, and adjoining the brewery. 

A visit to the plant of this company 
will take one over an enormous acre- 
age of floor space, every bit of which 
is absolutely as neat and clean as it 
is possible to obtain by the copious 
scaldings of boiling hot water, and 

The Cooler. 

then in 1871, to keep up with their 
orders, it was found necessary to 
build a new brew house, which was 
constructed and arranged throughout 
in the most thorough and perfect 
manner, and furnished with the best 
improved appliances kno\\Ti to the 
business. In 1878 a cooperage 
department was added, and the fol- 
lowing year still another and much 
larger malt house was erected. 
During the early eighties the largest 
cellars for the storage of ale and por- 

thorough scrubbing. Up in the top 
of one of the malt houses you will see 
great vats in which the barley is 
steeped, or soaked, in order to start 
the germinating process. In steep- 
ing, the grain swells about one fifth 
in bulk, and on6 half in weight. It 
is then spread on floors and germin- 
ation begins. 

Barley is the seed of several species 
of Hordeum, and belongs to the tribe 
of grasses called by botanists Gramin- 
aceoe. It has been cultivated since 



Fermenting Tuns. 

tlie earliest times. Good barley 
should have a thin, clean, wrinkled 
husk, closely adhering to a plump, 
well-fed kernel, which, when broken, 
appears white and sweet, with a germ 
full, and of a pale yellow color. It 
is, of all cereals, the best adapted for 
malting, containing more starch and 
less gluten than other grain, and 
about seven per cent, of ready-formed 
grape-sugar. Great care must be 
exercised in buying in 0i.'der that the 
barley may be of even-sized grains 
and free from clay, stones, and other 
seeds. Outside of this country the 
brewer has to scour Europe, Asia, 
Africa, South America, and the Uni- 
ted States for his barley and hops; 
but the Pacific and "Western states 
and the state of New York supply the 
American brewer with all that he re- 

The maltster's object is to obtain as 
much saccharine matter as possible, 
with the smallest loss of substance, by 

converting the starch of the barley 
into sugar, and thus preparing it for 
the brewery. As germination starts, 
the stem begins to grow under the 
husk from the same end as the root, 
but, instead of piercing the husk, 
turns around and proceeds under it 
to the other end of the grain. This 
would develop into the green leaf 
were its progress not stopped. Best 
ales are made from malt in which the 
stem is allowed to grow to almost the 
length of the kernel and is nearly 
ready to burst through as a veritable 
sprout; at this time there will be 
found five rootlets curling from the 
end of the grain. "When germination 
has reached this stage it is stopped by 
removing the barley to another room, 
having a metal floor pierced with 
many fine holes which admit a con- 
stant current of hot air, thus drying 
the grain quickly. The Frank Jones 
Co. malt houses use over four thou- 
sand bushels of barley every week. 



The malt, being sufficiently dried, is 
then sifted, and crushed in a mill 
that resembles those used in making 
"roller process" flour, after which it 
is conveyed to the mash-tun and is 
there covered with water heated to a 
very high temperature. Good water, 
hard, and free from organic matter, 
is an absolute necessity in the brew- 
ing of good ale. The supposed value 
of the Burton waters is due to the 
fact that they are not surface waters 
at all, but are drawn from wells 
twenty to one hundred and twenty 
feet deep, supplied from springs. 
Now that is exactly the case in Ports- 
mouth, and The Frank Jones Brew- 
ery has its own auxiliary pumping 
station readj^ in an emergency. 

The water having been heated and 
added to the malt in the mash-tun 
(the contents of which are now 
known as "mash") the mash is 
drawn off into the copper; here the 

hops are added and the materials for 
the brew (now known as "wort") are 
ready. Hops were first used in 
brewing in the ninth century, and 
were introduced into England from 
Flanders. They are added to impart 
the bitter flavor and also as a preser- 
vative. A good brewer carefully 
times his brew at the proper tempera- 
ture, for too much or too little brew- 
ing is as bad for ale as for tea. The 
wort is now dra^vn off and rapidly 
cooled by falling in a steady stream 
over the pipes shown in the cut. 
These pipes are ice cold, being filled 
constantly by the pumps of the re- 
frigerating plant. The wort passes 
from the cooler to the fermenting 
tuns, where the yeast is added and 
fermentation at once commences. 
The yeast is a very important factor 
in brewing operations and great care 
is taken to have it pure and of the 
right formation. Microscopic exam- 

Filling Casks in Racking Room. 



Where the Casks are Washed. 

ination is the test for this and two 
kinds are here shoAvn. As fermen- 
tation progresses, a great mass of 
foam is thro\vn up to a thickness of 
some three feet on the top of the ale 
and is repeatedly skimmed off until 
the operation is completed, when the 
ale is drawn off into a tank of metal, 
and compressed air admitted to the 
top to force it into the casks in the 
' * racking room. ' ' The casks are also 
filled with air at the same pressure, so 
that as the ale comes in the air goes 
out, and there is no foaming; conse- 
quently the barrel may be filled full. 

The Frank Jones Brewing Company 
make most of the casks which they use, 
and maintain a large and well ap- 
pointed cooper shop for this purpose. 
AVhen a cask is returned empty, it is 
carefully inspected, and, if sweet, is 
cleansed in the washing room, thor- 
oughly scalded and rinsed before re- 
filling; but if it is found to be foul, 
then it goes to the cooper shop and a 
head is taken out to cleanse the in- 
side thoroughly. 

In order that the ale in cask may 
be systematically and intelligently 
matured, stores are required in Avhich 

r-arrn Tearyis V'v'aiting in tlie Bie.'.c.^ "la.d f«r Grains. 



Store for Maturing Bottled Aie. 

one even temperature can be kept all 
the year round. This means that 
each store must contain a heating ap- 
paratus for use in winter and a re- 
frigerating one for use in summer. 
In these vaults are stored thousands 
of casks at the same even temperature 
every day of the year. Experience 
has proved that 54 degrees Fahr. is 
the natural temperature for the life 
of ale. There are several useful by- 
products in the process which are val- 
uable, among which are the grains 
which are bought by the farmers in 
the vicinity for feed; the spent hops, 
for manure; and screenings or sldm- 
mings of barley, for chicken food. 

When the several brands of ale are 
properly matured, the casks are 
shipped to the different agents for 
sale, or else are taken to the adjoining 
bottling department and bottled for 
export or for family use. The bot- 
tling plant is equipped with the most 

modern labor-saving machinery for 
cleansing the bottles, filling, and seal- 
ing them. 

In every department of tliis im- 
mense brewing plant the utmost care 
is taken to the end that its product 
shall be the best that money and 
brains can produce. Cleanliness is 
the first order for every man on the 
place, and the men in charge of the 
various operations are every one ex- 
perts. Only the best modern ma- 
chinery is used, and the buyers of the 
grain and hops to be consumed are 
searching always for the best that can 
be bought. 

The result is that most people con- 
sider Frank Jones' Ales even supe- 
rior to the celebrated imported pro- 
ducts. The output is steadily in- 
creasing, being last year nearly a 
quarter of a million barrels, and wiU 
probably exceed that amount consid- 
erably the present year. 



iL. n. c. 

At a recent political meeting held 
in Manchester, the Democratic candi- 
date for mayor was briefly introduced 
bv a man, who, after the nominee had 

*■ 7 7 

made his speech of acceptance, was 
liimself loudly called upon for a 
speech. The current papers said 
that he made "his usual graceful 
speech, which was composed of solid 
facts, combined in logical sequence; 
no vituperation; just a fair-minded 
presentation of facts and figures with 
wliich he was perfectly familiar." 

This man was Charles Carrol 
Hayes, one of the leading business 
men of Manchester. 

He is a native of New London. His 
early years were spent in that beau- 
tiful country town and in Salisbury, 
where his parents moved in 1861 and 
where his father, the late Hon, John 
M. Hayes, conducted a general store 
during, and after, the Civil "War. In 
1869 the family moved to Manchester, 
which has since been the residence of 
the subject of this sketch. Mr. 
Hayes obtained his education in the 
district schools of New London and 
Salisbury and the public schools of 
Manchester, graduating from the 
Manchester High school in 1875 with 
a good record for scholarship and in- 

After graduation he made a trip 
through the West and shortly after 
his return he entered the employ 
of John M. Chandler & Co., then con- 
ducting the "Old Family General 

Store," known far and wide in the 
early days of Manchester under the 
management of Kidder & Chandler 
(the late distinguished Mason and 
Odd Fellow, Joseph Kidder, being the 
original head of the firm). The 
business of this firm was very exten- 
sive and it brought the young clerk, 
a wide acquaintance with the farmers 
of the surrounding towns, for the 
"Old Family Store" was almost a 
landmark for the farmers from miles 
around, who were accustomed to make 
it their headquarters on their trading 
trips to Manchester. Remaining 
here about three years, Mr. Hayes 
entered into business for himself, 
purchasing a grocery store at the 
corner of Elm and Mechanic streets, 
which he conducted successfully for 
three and a half years, when he dis- 
posed of it and entered upon the real 
estate, insurance, loan, and surety 
bond business, in which he is at 
present engaged. Having his ofBce 
at first in the Opera block, Mr. Hayes 
moved in 1894 to the magnificent, 
newly erected Kennard building, and 
in the new structure of the same 
name he has his office at the present 
time; he is also the agent for the 
building. The -integrity, business 
acumen, and enterprise of Mr. Hayes 
has resulted in building up a profi- 
table and satisfactory business of a 
sterling reputation among people of 
all classes. 

Politically, Charles C. Hayes is a 

G. M.— 2 


Democrat, and of the most sturdy been its treasurer since the death of 
sort, as was his father before him. the late Henry Chandler. In the 
But such is the confidence reposed in development of the shoe industry, 
him by even his political opponents which is second among the great 
that he has always run largely ahead industries of Manchester, where its 
of his ticket when named for public employees number several thousands, 
office. In 1894 and again in 1896 he he is actively interested, and is treas- 
was the candidate of his party for urer of the Eimmon Manufacturing- 
mayor of Manchester against the company, owning the factory opera- 
popular William C. Clarke. On ted by H. B. Reed & Co., and is clerk 
the latter occasion he polled a vote of the ]\Ianchester Shoe IManufactur- 
larger by fifty per cent, than that ing Co., which owns the huge build- 
thrown for his ticket, being de- ing occupied by Kimball Bros., who 
feated by only 700 votes when the are among the largest manufacturers 
average Republican majority for in their line in the country. Mr. 
other officers was over 2,600. This Hayes is a stockholder in numerous 
was in the Presidential year of 1896, other manufacturing enterprises on 
when, it will be remembered, the sil- which the abundant prosperity of 
ver issue contributed so largely to ]\Ian Chester is founded. No project 
demoralize the Democratic party, and looking toward the advancement of 
when the largest degree of personal the city of his adoption fails to secure 
popularity was necessary to hold the his sympathetic assistance, 
average Democratic strength, not to It is inevitable that a man of Mr. 
mention gaining votes from the oppo- Hayes' companionable nature should 
sition. This year he has been named be attracted by that form of modern 
by his party for treasurer of Hills- civilization which finds its expression 
borough county, and there is little in the Fraternal Order, and he early 
doubt among any who know him but became a member of the ]\Iasonic fra- 
that his record will largely reduce, if ternity, to whose teachings there is no 
it does not extinguish, the usual large more devoted adherent in our state. 
Republican majority for that office. He took the degrees, which made him 
In the councils of his party Mr. a Master Mason, in Washington 
Hayes is an influential figure. While lodge, No. 61, in 1877, and subse- 
making no aspirations to the fame of quently passed through the significant 
a " speU-binder, " he is a clear, logical, rites of Mt. Horeb Royal Arch Cliap- 
and forcible speaker, and is found on ter, Adoniram Council of Royal and 
the platform declaring the truth as Select Mastera, and Trinity Com- 
he sees it, with dignity and effect, raandery. Knights Templar, of Man- 
whenever occasion requires. Chester. He was also advanced 
In the various business concerns of through the degrees of Edward A. 
Manchester Mr. Hayes is largely in- Raymond Consistory of the Scottish 
terested as a public-spirited and en- Rite of Nashua, and received the 33d 
terprising citizen. A charter mem- degree of Masonry, September 21, 
ber of the Board of Trade, he was the 1897, at Boston, Mass. In all the 
president of that representative or- beneficent work of this grand frater- 
ganization in 1894 and 1895, and has nity he bears an honored and prom- 

OA THE 7 IDE. 17 

inent part, for he is a friend and sup- Hayes liolds membership in the 

porter of that magnificent charity, Derryfield and Calumet clubs, and is 

the IMasonic Home at Manchester, a trustee of the Mechanics' Savings 

being at the present time a trustee of bank. 

that institution. The offices he has Islr. Hayes has been twice married, 

held in the ]\Iasonie order embrace first, in 1885, to Miss Belle J. Ken- 

those of "Worshipful IMaster of Wash- nard (daughter of John and Hannah 

ington lodge, Thrice Illustrious Mas- B. Kennard), who died August 1, 

ter of Adoniram Council, Eminent 1890, leaving three children, John 

Conunander of Trinity Commandery, Carrol, Louise K., and Annie Belle. 

]\Iost Worshipful Grand Master of In 1900 he married Miss Carrie W. 

jNIasons in New Hampshire in 1894- Anderson. They have one daughter, 

'95, and Eight Eminent Grand Com- Marion. 

mander of the Grand Commandery, In all the relations of life Charles 

Knights Templar of New Hampshire C. Hayes represents the best type of 

(in 1893), of w^hich body he is now the public-spirited, conscientious cit- 

Grand Treasurer. izen, and his name stands for honesty. 

In addition to his Masonic con- conservatism, and good sense in the 

nections, he is a member of Amoskeag management of public and private 

grange. Patrons of Husbandry. Mr. affairs. Whenever he has been a 

Hayes early affiliated with the Bap- candidate for public office, his op- 

tist denomination and was president ponent has realized at the close of the  

of the First Baptist Religious society canvass that there has been a contest, 

of Manchester for the thirteen years and the large votes cast for Mr. 

ending in December, 1903, and was Hayes show clearly enough the im- 

identified with its board for twenty press that his character has made 

years. upon the community in which he has 

In a thriving city like Manchester lived so many years. Thoroughly 

there is no end to the directions in loyal to his city and his state, true to 

which the activities of a public- his principles, to his friends and him- 

spirited and energetic citizen can self, Charles C. Hayes deserves the 

manifest themselves, and, in addition respect in which he is held, 
to the bodies already mentioned, Mi\ 


By Charles Henry Chesley. 

We idly drift down the marshy coves, 

And round the ledges where the breakers foam, 

The white-winged gulls fly overhead in droves 
And wildly sing our hearts : " The sea is home. 









F. B Sanborn (I 904). 



At the request of the editor of the 
Granite Monthly, who desires to 
preserve and publish in this maga- 
zine all that relates to the colony and 
state where we were born, I begin 
these recollections of a long life, in 
which will be mingled many a strand 
from earlier times than ours, and 
many another life which has crossed 
mine, or flowed beside it to that wide 
ocean of Eternity, towards which 
every human existence tends, in its 
short course through this inscrutable 
world. We are sent into it without 
our will, and we stay here a longer or 

shorter time, with no consent of our 
own, for the most part ; and the influ- 
ence of our small contribution of vital- 
ity and activity, to the infinitude of 
life around us, we can neither com- 
pute nor avoid in the final reckoning 
of human accountability. I can at 
least say that mine has never been 
consciously directed, save in the sal- 
lies of youth, towards aught but the 
good of others, as I then understood 
it ; though it may well be that what I 
thought for their best was in its effect 
far otherwise. 

My vitality, but, I hope, not my 
infant accountability, began in a brisk 
winter day, December 15, 1831, in 



The Old B. Sanborn House. (In Front of Munt Hill ) 

the southwest lower room of the old 
house, built in 1743, which is repre- 
sented in the view of it here given. 
My mother, I^ydia Leavitt by her 
maiden name, was then approaching 
thirty-two, having been born at her 
father's house, under the four elms, 
(Thomas lyeavitt's) in March, 1800, 
coincident with the new century, and 
married at the age of twenty. My 
father, Aaron Sanborn, was then 
thirty-nine (born November 26, 1793); 
and I was the fourth of his children 
who survived — an infant, his first- 
born, dying in i820-'2i. His oldest 
son, my eldest living brother, to 
whom I was much indebted for my 
early education, Charles Henry San- 
born, became a physician after many 
experiences and some adventures, and 
practised for more than forty years in 
the old township of Hampton, which 
was founded in 1638 by our earliest 
American ancestor. Reverend Stephen 
Bachiler, an Oxford graduate of 
1586, and the latest of our immediate 
line to receive a university degree, 
until 1855 and 1856, when Charles 
and I took our Harvard diplomas of 
A. B. and M. D., 270 years later 
than our clerical forefather. In 1867 
our youngest brother, Joseph Leavitt 

Sanborn (born in October, 1843), took 
his Harvard degree. In his educa- 
tion Dr. Charles and I co-operated, 
and also his two sisters and elder 
brother, Lewis Thomas Sanborn (born 
October 11, 1834; died June 26, 1904), 
under whose particular care he was 
after my leaving New Hampshire in 
i854-'55. These sisters were Sarah 
Elizabeth (born May 23, 1823 ; died 
at Hampton Falls, Feb. 25, 1903) and 
Helen Maria (born March 17, 1830, 
and still living in our old home). 
Our ancestors, with the exception of 
Mr. Bachiler and his eldest grand- 
son of the Sanborn line, John, were 
all born in the first broad township of 
Hampton, including what are now 
that town and Hampton Falls, North 
Hampton, Seabrook, Southampton, 
and a good part of Kensington. Most 
of them, excepting the second John 
Sanborn and his brother Joseph (of 
the Sanborn line) were born, on the 
farm of which our old house w^as near 
the center, and the Benjamin San- 
born house (represented above) was 
at the western limit. Another San- 
born house stood not far from the 
barn of Dr. Sanborn's place, and was 
long the residence of Deacon Benja- 
min, one of the first of many Hamp- 



ton Falls deacons ; while a still older 
house, most likely of hewn logs, 
stood near the " Pepperidge Bush," 
which was a landmark for centuries, 
half way down the hill to the north- 
west, on the old Exeter road. 

The original Sanborn farm, taken 
up, as I suppose, before i6So, ad- 
joined the farm of Nathaniel Bachel- 
der, a grandson of Parson Stephen, 
now occupied (in part) by my cousin, 
Warren Brown, the historian of the 
parish and town of Hampton Falls. 
It was much more extensive than that 
lately left by my brother, Lewis, and 
seems to have reached from the cor- 
ner where the " Old Mill Road " comes 
out upon the ' ' Back Road ' ' to Hamp- 
ton, westward about 220 rods, to the 
Indian hill behind the Benjamin San- 
born house, on which, traditionally, 
. was the wigwam of an Indian — 
always known as ' ' Munt Hill, ' ' mean- 
ing "Mound Hill," as I fancy. 
This neighborhood center of San- 
borns, Bachelders, and Prescotts 

was originally a blockhouse fort 
against Indian assault, then a school- 
house, and finally the meeting-house 
of 1768, here represented. One by one 
the families removed, and others came 
in (always excepting the Sanborns and 
a branch of the Bachelders), so that, 
at my birth, the neighborhood was 
made up of Sanborns in two houses, 
the Browns in two, the Lanes (a con- 
nection of the Sanborns by the mar- 
riage of Deacon Lane to my grand- 
father's aunt, Mary Sanborn), and the 
Perkinses, Wellses, and Healeys, who 
had come upon the lands of Deacon 
Sanborn, and of the Greens and Pres- 
cotts and Cliffords gone elsewhere. 
Temporarily the parsonage was empty 
of a minister (Parson Abbot having 
gone upon his farm at Windham) 
and my uncle, Joseph, with his wife 
and two children were there, tenants 
of the parish. A few years after my 
birth they removed to what is now 
the oldest house in town — an ancient 
Cram homestead — my uncle's wife 

The Old Meeting-house. 



Interior of the Old Meeting-house. 

being Betsey Cram, a sister of Porter 
and Joseph Cram, who were an im- 
portant influence in my boyhood and 
youth, as will be seen. Of this house 
the artist presents a view in connec- 
tion with the story of my first esca- 
pade. In my native hamlet I was one 
of some twenty children-six Sanborns, 
one Sanborn-Stevens, adopted by my 
grandfather ; six Healeys, cousins of 
Mrs. Dall ; three Browns, two Lanes, 
two Wellses, and one Perkins — the 
other Browns and Perkinses having 
grown up and gone into the world to 
make their way. At present there 
are but four children where the twen- 
ty-one of 1833 gamboled and went to 
school at the red or the brick school- 
house. My systematic instruction 
began in the red house, on the ridge 
leading to my Grandfather Leavitt's 
hill and meadow farm, and half way 
between his house and my father's. 
My sisters took me there before I was 

four, and at the age of four and a half 
I was the pupil of dear Mary Law- 
rence, who gave me my first reward 
of merit, and bestowed on me her 
sweet smile, which I still remember. 
She was the daiighter of Dr. Law- 
rence of Hampton, and taught only 
in summers^ — the winter schools, fre- 
quented by the big boys, requiring 
the muscles of a schoolmaster, who 
sometimes wielded the rod with manly 
vigor. I was soon transferred to the 
brick schoolhouse on the Exeter road, 
and there continued my education, 
summer and winter, till at the age of 
eleven I had begun algebra, and 
was learning a little Latin from my 
brother Charles, who read Caesar, 
Virgil, and Cicero "at the age of 
twenty, self-instructed, so far as I 

But I have a few recollections 
earlier than even my alphabetical 
school years; indeed, I must have 



had the alphabet when I went to 
Mary Ivawrence ; for I then read in 
words of two or three syllables, and 
could understand the pictured fables in 
the spelling-book that had superseded 
Webster's. His " rude boy " steal- 
ing apples still survived in the newer 
book, and could be seen in the coarser 
printed Webster, carefully preserved 
among other old schoolbooks in the 
garret. Of this garret I have early 
souvenirs ; but one of my earliest 
recollections is of another garret, with 
very steep stairs, up which my short 
legs, at three years old, could hardly 
mount. I remember myself in a 
short plaid gown, toiling up this 
mountain pathway, along with another 
child (Arthur Godfrey, perhaps), and 
not till many years after did I recog- 
nize this same stairway in the old 
Benjamin Sanborn house, then owned 
by Cousin Nancy, in which my Aunt 
Dorothy, soon to be mentioned, was 
brought up by her grandmother as a 
companion to her younger cousin, 
early left an orphan. This incident I 
place in 1835 ; but before that I was 
the hero of another adventure, of 
which my mother told me, for I can- 
not recall it. In 1834, when I was a 
little beyond two years and a half, if so 
much, our house was struck by light- 
ning, and the bolt ran down the big 
chimney, and diverted itself a little 
in the " back chamber," where I was 
playing alone, near the chimney. My 
sister ran up to see what had hap- 
pened to me, but I was found placidly 
playing with a stick, seated on the 
floor, and declaring that the great 
noise had been made by my pounding 
on the floor with my stick. I believed 
myself already capable of making 
some stir in the world. 

My father was one of five children 

by the two marriages of my Grand- 
father Sanborn with two cousins 
named Blake. By the first was born 
one daughter, Dolly (shortened from 
Dorothy), who never married ; by 
the second, two sons and two daugh- 
ters, of whom only the younger 
daughter, Sally, married. The two 
brothers, Joseph, named for the 
builder of the house, and Aaron (a new 
name in the family), had been diligent 
pupils in the district school, and re- 
ceived prizes for their skill in mathe- 
matics,— small American editions of 
"Pope's Essay on Man," to which 
his Universal Prayer was annexed. 
These, together with the " ciphering 
books" that had won the prize, re- 
mained in an old chest in the west 
garret, which contained a medley of 
ancient literature. Upon these my 
thirst for reading exercised itself for 
half a dozen years, — almanacs and 
school-books, old copies of the Nezv 
Havipshire Patriot of Isaac Hill, and 
more recent copies of the first Uni- 
versalist newspaper in Boston, Thomas 
Whittemore's Trumpet. 

But there was more solid food in a 
" Social Library " founded by Parson 
Abbot, who had succeeded Dr. I^ang- 
don as the town minister when my 
father was five years old, and induced 
his parishioners to take shares in it. 
Ordinarily it was kept in the parson- 
age, across the green from my grand- 
father's house, where now stands the 
house, about the same size, of my 
late brother I^ewis. Before I was 
eight years old I began to read those 
books, particularly " Mavor's Voy- 
ages " and -" Plutarch's Lives," the 
latter in Langhorne's version, with 
quotations from Homer given in the 
words of Pope, and with other poetic 
passages (in the footnotes) from Dr. 



The Old Cram House. 

Johnson and his contemporaries. For 
fiction we had the " Popular Tales" 
of Miss Edgeworth and the " Moral 
Tales" of Hannah More; while ser- 
mons and biographies, Goldsmith's 
"Animated Nature," and an occa- 
sional volume of poems, — Southey's 
"Joan of Arc," I remember, for 
there I first saw Greek verse in the 
unknown alphabet, and the effusions 
of Colonel Humphreys and Robert 
Treat Paine. 

My Uncle Joseph, a grave and 
kindly man, who had lived for a few 
years in the parsonage after Parson 
Abbot vacated it in 1827, was now 
living, a confirmed invalid, in the old 
Cram house, here represented, and 
probablj' built before 1700. He died 
in December, 1836, before I was five 
years old, and his funeral sermon was 
preached by Rev. Stephen Farley, 
the father of Harriet Farley, one of 

the founders, and for years the editor, 
of the once famous Lowell Offering, 
written by factory girls, of whom 
Harriet was one. I was sent to the 
Exeter Road school in the summer 
of 1836, a mile from our house, and 
more than half a mile from my 
uncle's; but, beguiled by some boy 
or girl, I ran up there after school, 
against the injunctions of my sister 
Helen, who had the care of me. I 
remember this incident for two rea- 
sons, — it was the only time I recall 
seeing this uncle, and I was much 
afraid of being whipped for my es- 
capade. My uncle sat in the long 
dining-room, in his sick chair, and 
spoke to me in a pleasant manner, 
while my aunt and cousins were in 
and out of the quaint old room. I 
became well acquainted with the 
house afterward, but this was the 
only time I saw my uncle in it. My 



sister Sarah, whose portrait at a 
much later date is here given, came 
up to take me home, and, I suppose, 
held out prospects of punishment by 
my father, for when I saw him, and 
he sent me to wash my feet on the 
bench at the back door, I had great 
fears that a whipping would follow. 
It did not, but my mother put her 
tired son to bed with many injunc- 
tions not to do such a thing again. 

At this time, as near as I remem- 
ber, I was a chubby boy, with long 
light hair, which my Grandmother 
Leavitt used to stroke with her soft 
hand, and call me her " Httle Dr. 
Franklin." I often visited her and 
my corpulent grandfather, 'Squire 
Tom Leavitt, living in the white 
house near the hill, under the four 
elms, and with his hives of bees be- 
side the well, in full view from his 
east door, near which he sat in his 
justice's chair and read his news- 
papers, or heard cases brought before 
him as justice of the peace, an office 
he held by constant appointment from 
his first commission by Gov. John 
Langdon in 1805 till his death in 
1852. His three sons had married 
and left home, and two of his daugh- 
ters, my mother being the eldest ; so 
that his house w^as kept by my Aunt 
Hannah, then about twenty, assisted 
by her mother, who soon became so 
much an invalid that she could do 
little except entertain visitors with 
her pleasant conversation. The farm 
was carried on by a hired man, — at 
first David Forsyth, a Yankee, but 
soon b}^ a north of Ireland Scotch- 
man, John Cochrane, who remained 
for many years. 

"With this pleasant homestead many 
of my most delightful recollections 
connect themselves. I was a favorite 

with all, and allowed the range of 
the house, and the orchard, which in 
summer and autumn abounded in 
fruit. There were the bee-hives, 
from which we got delicious honey, 
and there were specialties in my 
aunt's cooking which pleased me 
more than what I had every day at 
home. I was first carried there, so 
far as I remember, in the winter, 
with my father and mother, — I sit- 

Sarah Elizabeth Sanborn. 

ting wrapped up in the bottom of the 
sleigh, — and as we glided along, 
drawn by the horse of my own age, 
or a little older, I noticed how the 
stone walls seemed to run awaj'' back- 
wards as we passed by. Occasionally 
I spent the night at this house, and 
distinctly recall the high-post bed- 
stead, into the luxurious featherbed 
of which I had to climb by a chair. 
There, too, I met my cousins from 
Boston, half a dozen city girls and 
boys, who spent some part of their 
vacations at their grandfather's, — 


one of them a boy a little older than 
nij'self, with whom I learned to swim 
in the small stream at the foot of the 

I was often sent to carry the news- 
paper to my political grandfather, 
who, in return, sent us his agricul- 
tural weekly, for he was a farmer 
with specialties, such as the breeding 
of Durham cattle and bee culture. 

preferred to sit, and in front of which 
he died in December, 1901. In the 
corner opposite the fire stood the tall 
old clock, and there was the book- 
case near by, in which I found and 
learned by heart two or three of the 
plays of Shakespeare, and from which 
I took my great-grandmother's " Scots 
Worthies," with its biographies of 
Knox and his associate Calvinists, 




,/' , 


Thomas Leavitt, Esq. 

(1808 ) 

Hannah (Melcher) Leavitt. 

He understood the latter better than 
an5'body in town, and dealt with his 
bees in a way that astonished boys, 
who did not dare to go near the hives 
for fear of being stung. In the win- 
ter he lived by an open fire in a 
Franklin stove, which came to me 
afterwards, and furnished my poet- 
friend Ellery Channing, during the ten 
years and more that he lived in my 
house, the cheerful blaze by which he 

and the scandalous pamphlet of 
Howie of lyochgoin, "God's Judg- 
ments on Persecutors," aimed spec- 
ially at the Stuart kings and their 
instruments of oppression in Scot- 

The poetry in our Social lyibrary 
did not much attract me as a child, 
nor was it very good, but at a neigh- 
bor's I found the poems of Burns, 
and my brother Charles had an Amer- 





























ican editiou of Moore's "Melodies," 
on which I feasted, as I did on a 
borrowed edition of Campbell's poems. 
These introduced me to Walter Scott, 
and one of my own first purchases 
was a Philadelphia edition of the 
" Waverley Novels," which I read 
at the age of twelve with the greatest 
delight. I had read, the " Scottish 
Chiefs ' ' of Miss Porter earlier, and 
an edition of ' ' Don Quixote ' ' in four 
volumes, printed at Exeter in small 
type, but easily read by young eyes. 
Mrs. Radcliffe's "Romance of the 
Forest " was another novel of which 
I read the first volume only, and did 
not learn till many years after how 
the story came out, for my brother, 
at a muster-field, where books were 
sold by a peddler, bought two cop- 
ies of the first volume, supposing 
he had the whole book, and was 
never able to match them with the 

All this time I was going to the 
district school, and learning all that 
successive teachers — young women in 
summer, and young men in winter — 
could impart to a boy who took to 
studies of all kinds like a duck to 
water. From my brother Charles I had 
got a smattering of Latin before I was 
ten, and at the age of eleven, a lively 
young schoolmaster, D. W. Barber, 
began to teach me Greek in the town 
school. I learned the alphabet and 
the declension of the Greek article, 
but then my careful father declared 
me too young for that study, and I 
unwillingly gave it up. At the same 
time I was learning all the common 
activities of farming — riding the horse 
to plow and rake hay, driving oxen, 
planting and hoeing corn and pota- 
toes, raking hay and weeding the 
garden, taking care of the barn, chop- 

ping wood, and a dozen other things 
which a boy could do. The work 
did not press, usually, and there was 
plenty of time to learn shooting, at 
first with bow and arrow and after- 
ward with guns, and for playing the 
simple games that country boys then 
understood. Baseball, for instance, 
— not then the angry and gambling 
game it has since become, — and the 
easier games of " one old cat," "two 
old cat," and "drive," played with 
balls; and "truck," played with a 
solid wooden wheel, rolled over the 

In such games girls did not join ; 
and the game of cricket, which has 
long prevailed in England, and in 
which girls in school now take part 
there, never was domesticated in New 
England. But there were many less 
active games in which girls in Hamp- 
ton Falls participated. Such were 
" Hy Spy," a hiding sport, where 
one boy or girl stood at a tree, the 
side of a building, or elsewhere, with 
eyes covered, while the rest of the 
children sought hiding places during 
the half minute that the spy was 
counting a hundred. Then they were 
searched for, and when seen the one 
who was " it" called out, " I spy," 
and both ran for the "gool," which 
was the tree, etc., where the spy had 
stood.. If the spy got there first, or 
touched the one espied, he or she 
was " it," and the game took a new 
turn. This word " gool " for "goal," 
figured in another game, called indif- 
ferently "gool,"' "tag," or "co- 
ram ; " in this two spots were marked 
and called "gools," between which 
the children must run, and could be 
' ' tagged ' ' or touched anywhere off 
the gools. To decide who should be 
the first catcher in such sports, a 



mystic rhyme was recited ; sometimes 

Eena, meena, mona mike, 
Pestalahni, bony, strike, 
Huldy, guldy, Boo ! 

A child was pointed at with each 
word, and the first catcher was the 
one on whom the fatal " Boo" fell. 
Another and more elaborate incanta- 
tion was this : 

Wier, brier, limber lock, 
Five mice all in a flock 
Sit by the spring, and sing 

O-U-T ! 

The last letter fell to the one who was 
to be "it" in any game. Still 
another rhyme began, 

Intery, mintery, cutery corn, 
Apple-seed, apple-thorn, 

to which the rhyme just cited could 
be added. In other games, like 
"Thread the Needle" or kissing 
games, these rhymes were chanted by 
the little girls, who had better notions 
of song than the boys,— 

Uncle John is very sick. 

What will you please to give him ? 
Three good wishes. 
Three good kisses. 

And a pint of ginger. 

Or else this, — 

William Healey, so they say, 
Goes a-courting night and day. 
Sword and pistol by his side, 
And Fanny Brown shall be his bride. 

In each case the boy was to catch the 
girl and kiss her if he could. In 
"Thread the Needle," which, Uke 
most of these sports, was very ancient 
and traditional, like these rhymes 
(though the latter had been much 
changed in passing from one genera- 
tion to another, never being written 
down), the boys and girls formed an 
alley by standing opposite and holding 
hands above the head of the girl who 

walked down this laughing alley, as 
this verse was chanted — 

This needle's ej-e no one can pass, 

The thread it runs so true ; 
It has caught many a pretty fair lass, 

And now it has caught you. 

At which last word the linked arms 
of the last couple dropped down over 
the head of the last girl, and she was 
subject to be kissed by the boy of that 
couple. These sports indicate how 
early the natural relation of the two 
sexes began to show itself in the sim- 
ple community ; for the boys and girls 
who taught me to play them could 
not have been more than seven years 
old when I learned the rhymes. A 
little later came the sedentary games 
for long evenings, — checkers, morrice 
(which we called " moral "), fox-and- 
geese, and the simplest forms of card- 
playing. Chess came in later, and I 
was twelve at least when I learned 
that game of skill from the minister's 
son in the parsonage across the green 
Whist came about the same time with 
chess, and was diligently pursued for 
several winters, the boys meeting 
round at each other's houses and 
playing in the family sitting-room, 
undei the eyes of the older people. 
This, in my case, was the " clock 
room," where still stands the tall 
clock, one hundred and thirty years 
old now, which was made by Daniel 
Balch of Newburyport, and has kept 
good time for five generations of San- 
borns in the same corner. In other 
houses we played in the long kitchen, 
which was apt to be the family sitting- 
room in winter, because better heated 
than the rest of the house, before air- 
tight stoves or furnaces came into 
use. The parlor, or "best room," 
was seldom opened to the children, 
except when ' ' company ' ' came to 


dinner or tea, or for the " nooning " 
on Sundays, at which time our house, 
being near the church, became the 
resort of cousins, aunts, and distant 

Already in my early boyhood, or 
before, had begun that religious dis- 
integration which gradually changed 
the ancient unity of the town or par- 
ish into a group of warring sects, dis- 
puting more or less zealously about 
infant baptism, original sin, eternal 
punishment, the Trinity, and the 
other points of contention among be- 
lievers nominally Christian, and more 
or less accepting the Bible as the lit- 
eral word of God, both Old and New 

The last town qlergyman who held 
the whole population together around 
his tall pulpit in Hampton Falls, was 
Dr. Samuel Langdon, who came there 
from the presidency of Harvard uni- 
versity in 1780, shaking off the dust 
of that ungrateful "society," as he 
termed it, and burdened with the 
debts contracted in the service of the 
clergy and people of Massachusetts, 
which the new commonwealth for sev- 
eral years neglected to pay, and never 
did pay in full. He was the most 
learned person who ever lived and 
died in the town, and one of the most 
useful ; though his immediate succes- 
sor, Rev. Jacob Abbot, who succeeded 
him as my grandfather's nearest 
neighbor, ser^^ed the community 
longer, and with rather more of the 
modern spirit. Dr. I^angdon was of 
the later eighteenth century, parson 
Abbot of the earlier nineteenth ; both 
liberal, philanthropic, and devoted to 
good literature. 

Before Dr. Langdon's death, in 
November, 1797, the revolting Bap- 
tists had begun to secede from the 

G. M.— 3 

orthodox Congregationalists in other 
towns, but hardly in Hampton Falls ; 
while the Quakers, much more numer- 
ous then, in the towns which made up 
old Hampton, than they are now, or 
have been in my time, had long ab- 
sented themselves from the parish 

Dr. Ivangdon brought together in 
the church edifice, near his parson- 
age, more than seventy families, and 

Doctor Langdon's Headstone In Hampton Falls. 

must have had, on pleasant Sundays, 
if the weather was not too freezing for 
the un warmed house, at least three 
hundred hearers for his learned ser- 
mons, expounding Romans or Reve- 
lations. But it was rumored that he 
was no Calvinist ; and if he chose his 
successor, as probably he did, he must 
have known that young Mr. Abbot 
was Arminian, and did not insist on 
endless damnation for a majority of 
his parishioners. At any rate, such 
proved to be the fact, and very soon 
the Baptists began to hold meetings 
by themselves, and protest against 



the ministerial tax collected by the 
town authority and paid over to par- 
son Abbot. A wealthy family of 
Browns led off in this secession, which 
in course of twent}' years again di- 
vided, the original seceders calling 
themselves "Christian " Baptists, and 
leaving the Calvinists to organize a 
church later at the "Hill" (as the 
small village was called), and to con- 
nect it with a special school, main- 
tained by Baptists and known, during 

or twenty years. My other grand- 
father, Sanborn, and his elder son, 
Joseph, also joined this society, and 
the latter was its treasurer in 1832, 
when the town's property in the par- 
sonage lands was sold, and the money 
(about $3,000) divided between the 
four societies then existing. Some- 
thing more than a fifth part went to 
the Universalists, and the rest was 
divided almost equally between the 
still united Congregationalists and the 

The Unitarian Church, Hampton Falls. 

the twenty-odd years of its existence, 
as " Rockingham Academy." 

The secession of the Freewill or 
Christian Baptists took place in 1805, 
and included several who took that 
mode of signifying their general dis- 
sent from the "standing order" of 
New England churches, without at- 
taching anj' special significance to the 
rite of baptism. Among these was 
my grandfather Leavitt, who, ten 
years later, headed a movement for a 
Universalist society in the town, to 
which he and his son-in-law, my 
father, attached themselves for a dozen 

two Baptist churches, the Christians 
getting more than twice as much as 
the " Calvin-Baptists." Now, seventj'^ 
years later, the Universalists have 
merged in the Unitarians, the two 
Baptist societies mostly in the Calvin- 
ists, while the Congregationalists 
have divided into Unitarian and Trin- 
itarian, neither of them strong socie- 
ties. In my boyhood the Universal- 
ists had ceased to hold meetings, and 
their church library had been divided 
among the members, my father re- 
ceiving as his share a two-volume 
history of Universalism, a Life of John 



Murray (the Irish Methodist who first 
preached universal salvation in Rock- 
ingham county), and the sermons of 
Elhanan Winchester, a " Restoration- 
ist"; who, after preaching in New 
England awhile went over to London 
and founded what became the Fins- 
bury Square Chapel, where W. J. 
Fox, and after him my friend, Mon- 
cure Conway, preached for long years. 

There were other books from this 
source ; but these attracted my boy- 
ish interest, and b)^ reading them 
—never having heard a sermon on the 
subject — I became, at the age of nine, 
a convinced Universalist. But I con- 
tinued to frequent other churches, — 
the Unitarian, near home, and the 
Christian Baptists where now the 
town library is. In the former I heard 
good preaching, by educated men, 
whose books I had read, or was to 
read. Among the Baptists I heard 
spontaneous religious utterances, 
oftentimes from women ; while their 
ministers, or "elders," were without 
much education, but often of good 
natural eloquence. At home I had 
read the Bible from earliest years, so 
that I could perhaps have said at the 
age of twelve that I had read all its 
books through twice ; of course with- 
out much understanding of the mys- 
tical or theological parts. 

To a certain degree, these sec- 
tarian divisions in religion repre- 
sented political opinions also. The 
"standing order" of Congregation- 
alists had been patriots in the Revo- 
lution, Federalists under Washing- 
ton and Adams, and had become 
"Whigs" under the classification 
that I first remember. The seced- 
ing sects, therefore, being at variance 
with the parish ministers, took an 
opposite side in politics ; as the Or- 

thodox were Federalists, the Baptists, 
Methodists, and Universalists became 
Jeffersonian Democrats, — in my time 
followers of Jackson and Van Buren. 
Thus, in Hampton Falls, until the 
Texas question made an issue among 
these Democrats, the Christian Bap- 
tists and Universalists, and some of 
the Unitarians, were mostly Demo- 
crats, while the Calvinists and most 
of the Unitarians were Whigs, and 
supported Harrison in the first presi- 
dential election that I remember. 
Even in 1839, at the age of seven, I 
was taking an interest in politics, as 
my father, grandfather, and elder 
brother did. Charles, afterwards Dr. 
Sanborn, subscribed, in his eighteenth 
year, to the Congressional Globe, of 
the elder Blair, and in that quarto 
record of congressional proceedings I 
became familiar with the names of 
all the senators and congressmen, 
and knew to which party they be- 
longed. I even recall, though I was 
but little more than seven, the ex- 
citement caused by the shooting of 
Cilley, Hawthorne's classmate, a 
Maine congressman, by Graves of 
Kentucky, in a quarrel originating 
with Colonel Webb of the New York 
Courier a7id Enqiiirer ; and I fol- 
lowed with interest the contest for 
the speakership in December, 1839, 
which ended with the election of 
Hunter of Virginia. 

Then came on the noisy log-cabin 
campaign between Van Buren in 
power, but burdened with the lack 
of prosperity in the country, and 
Harrison, a military candidate (who 
united in his rather insignificant per- 
son, the elements of general discon- 
tent), and the powerful leaders of 
the capitalist party of Whigs, such 
as Webster and Clay, Wilson of New 



Hampshire, and Evans of Maine. 
Knowing nothin'g of the principles 
involved (if there were any) I was a 
warm partisan of Van Buren, while 
the two sons of the new Unitarian 
minister in the parsonage, Charles 
and Henry Shaw, were ardent 
Whigs, With Henry I had a bet 
pending on the result, — no less than 
the old "fourpence ha' penny," 
valued at six cents and a quarter, in 
those da.y& of Spanish and Mexican 
coins. I lost the bet, of course, but 
my exultation was great the next 
summer, when Tyler of Virginia, the 
accidental president, vetoed the cur- 
rency and tariff bills of Henr}^ Clay, 
divided his party, and let the Demo- 
crats come into power in the next 
congress, — even carrying Massachu- 
setts, or a good part of it. New 
Hampshire valiantly supported Van 
Buren, who, on the currency and 
tariff questions, was right, as I now 
view it, and steadily sent a solid 
Democratic delegation to congress, 
in both branches. 

I saw little of the leaders in these 
party contests, but Moses Norris, 
who went to congress in 1843, was a 
nephew of my Grandfather Leavitt, 
and I remember seeing him in the 
winter of i842-'43, when he was a 
candidate, coming to our door in his 
uncle's sleigh to make a call on my 
mother. It must have been in the 
summer of 1843 that I first saw his 
associate, Franklin Pierce, afterwards 
president, and I remember distinctly 
how he looked and was dressed. It 
was in the court house at Exeter, 
where a criminal trial was going on, 
and Pierce had come down from 
Concord to defend Sara George, a 
wild youth of Seabrook, who was 
charged with burning his uncle's 

barn. Of the merits in the case I 
know nothing, and it is possible that 
Pierce, who w^as district attorney for 
New Hampshire about that time, 
may have been prosecuting George 
in the United States court, but I 
think not. All that I recall is the 
elegant figure and pleasing face of 
the leading Democrat of the state 
then, and for a dozen j-ears more. 
He was wearing the fashionable dress 
of the period, remembered now^ 
chiefly because Webster gave it a 
dignity, — the blue coat with brass 
buttons and the nankeen trousers 
strapped over the slender boot. His 
aspect was what Hawthorne after- 
wards described in his campaign life 
of General Pierce : " vivacious, slen- 
der, of a fair complexion, with light 
hair that had a curl in it ; his cheer- 
fulness made a kind of sunshine, yet, 
with all the invariable gentleness of 
his demeanor, he perfectly gave the 
impression of a high and fearless 
spirit." Norris was of another 
make, tall and large and dark, of 
strength almost gigantic, and 
naturally a leader, without the 
graces of leadership. Neither of 
them get full credit now for their 
talents, because they were exerted 
in the cause of human slavery, 
its extension and perpetuation, yet 
both were men of great humanity, 
who would rather do a generous ac- 
tion than a cruel one. 

The contest over the slavery ques- 
tion in New Hampshire began in the 
winter of i844-'45, ^^^ i^ ^^Y very 
neighborhood, for it was the Demo- 
cratic member of congress from 
Rockingham and Strafford, John P. 
Hale of Dover, who revolted against 
the dictation of Pierce, Atherton, 
and Norris in regard to the annexa- 



tion of Texas. New Hampshire had 
declared against slavery in 1820, 
when both political parties had 
united in passing resolutions in the 
state legislature, declaring slavery 
wrong and inconsistent with demo- 
cratic institutions. The annexation of 
Texas was favored chiefly by the slave- 
holders and their political allies, and 
the extension and protection of slavery 
was sought to be guaranteed by this 
expansion of our territory, at the risk 
of war with Mexico. The New 
Hampshire Democrats, following the 
lead of Van Buren, had passed reso- 
lutions again,st annexation, but the 
South had carried its point in 1844, 
nominated a Tennessee slaveholder 
for president, rejecting Van Buren, 
and their national platform favored 
annexing Texas. Mr. Hale, who 
had been nominated by the Demo- 
crats for reelection to congress, came 
out with a letter explaining his vote 
against annexation. 

The "Concord Regency," headed 
by Pierce, demanded that he should 
be dropped from the general ticket 
and another man nominated. When 
this was done, a few men in Kxetcr, 
Portsmouth, the Hamptons, and that 
neighborhood, called a public meet- 
ing, which took place at Exeter in 
February, 1845, and declared that 
^'Independent Democrats" would 
support Hale. They did so, to such 
an extent that Woodbury, the sub- 
stituted nominee, could not be 
elected, and there was a vacancy in 
the delegation till a coalition of 
Whigs and Independents carried the 
state in the election of 1846. 

This contest brought my brother 
Charles, then twenty-three years old, 
into political activity, and made him 
one of the younger leaders of the In- 

dependent Democracy in that part of 
New Hampshire. He had till then 
been occupied wholly with farm 
labors or with teaching, but had been 
a wide reader of political and social 
literature, and had many friends and 
followers in the towns where he was 

Though but thirteen years old, I 
sympathized entirely with him in his 
views. I had been much indebted 

Charles Heniy Sanborn (1846). 

to him for aiding my education, out 
of school, and teaching me much in 
the use of tools and the art of shoot- 
ing, in both of which he had made 
himself more expert than I ever be- 
came. He was a good cabinet 
maker, self-instructed, a good 
draughtsman," and in other ways 
handy, which I was not, though 
willing to learn. He had taught 
himself Latin and French, and other- 
wise had qualified himself beyond 
what was common among the youth 
of his time and place ; and he had 



an ambition, afterwards gratified, to 
practice a profession. His experi- 
ences of the heart had been unhap- 
py ; the sweet girl to whom he was 
attached having died before they 
could be married. 

In 1846 he became an assistant in 
the office of the anti-slavery secretary 
of state in Concord, and also aided 

F. B. Sanborn (I 849), y€t. I 7^ 

in editing the party newspaper, the 
Independent Democrat^ which did 
much to turn New Hampshire from 
the pro-slavery Democracy to what 
was afterwards organized as the Re- 
publican party. 

His portrait, here engraved, was 
taken in Concord at that time. It 
represents him at the age of (nearly) 
twenty-five, seriously handsome, and 
much resembling his mother's family, 

the Leavitts. My own first portrait 
was taken three years later, when I 
was seventeen, and both were called 
good likenesses at the time. 

It will be seen that the portrait 
above is that of a scholar, or, per- 
chance, a poet, rather than a finan- 
cier. My finances up to the age of 
seventeen were slender, and were 
chiefly expended for books or maga- 
zines. The}'^ were derived from small 
paj'ments made to me for small labors 
on the neighboring farms, or the care 
of Widow Perkins' barn and wood- 
shed ; which I had for the most part 
until I entered college. To this were 
added small tips from visiting cousins 
or other persons who shared the am- 
ple hospitalities of my father and 
my two grandfathers ; and the sales 
which I occasionally made of walnuts 
gathered in October. When in my 
twelfth year I visited Boston for the 
first time, my pocket money must 
have been supplied by my father ; 
and was expended in part for an 
American edition of " Hudibras," 
which I bought at a book-stall near 
the Faneuil Hall market. I had 
made the acquaintance of this hu- 
morous poem by some citations in 
"Newman's Rhetoric"; but was 
much disappointed in the story, 
which seemed to me, after " Don 
Quixote," flat and tiresome. On this 
visit I saw Adelaide Phillips (sub- 
sequently a famous singer) in a 
child's part at the Boston Museum, 
long owned by Moses Kimball who 
was my associate in later years. 

[ To be continued. 


B}i John Scales. 

Col. James Roberts was the son of 
'Joshua and Ruth (Smith) Roberts. 
He was born in Berwick, Me., 31 
May, 1745. His father came to Ber- 
wick from York, where he was born 
and his ancestors had lived for sev- 
eral generations. His mother was 
the daughter of John and Elizabeth 
Smith of Berwick. It is not known 
that he was any relation to the Rob- 
erts family of Dover. 

When a boy, James Roberts was a 
pupil of the famous schoolmaster, 
John Sullivan of Somers worth, and 
a schoolmate of John Sullivan, the 
distinguished general in the Revolu- 
tionary War, and of James Sullivan, 
governor of Massachusetts. Under 
the instruction of such a teacher, Mr. 
Roberts must have acquired a good 
education for that period. When he 
was twenty-two years old he married 
Martha Woodsum (9 July, 1767), and 
to them were born several children. 
The eldest of these, Mary, born 12 
May, 1769, married Thomas Went- 
worth, 16 Feb., 1790 ; and their Mar- 
tha, born 4 April, 1795, married John 
Ham of Dover (second wife), 14 May, 
1837. Their only son is John Thom- 
as Wentworth Ham of Dover, N. H., 
who was born 1 July, 1838. 

The battles of Lexington and Con- 
cord were fought 19 April, 1775. 
The news of this affair reached Ber- 
wick the next day and of course 
caused great excitement. All the 
able-bodied men were anxious to vol- 

unteer to form companies to march 
to Boston at once, but of course it 
required some little time to organize 
and equip the men. The second Pro- 
vincial Congress of Massachusetts 
issued a call, 23 April, 1775, for 
troops, and York county, in which is 
Berwick, responded promptly and 
raised the first regiment of foot sol- 
diers that was furnished by the dis- 
trict of Maine, then under Massachu- 
setts rule. The town of Berwick 
raised two companies of 64 men each 
for this regiment. This shows the 
patriotic spirit that prevailed in the 

One of these companies was com- 
manded by Ebenezer Sullivan, the 
youngest son of Master Jolm Sullivan 
and brother of the general. The 
other company was commanded by 
Philip Hubbard, and James Roberts, 
who was his second lieutenant, was 
very efficient and active in enlisting 
men for the company, which, when 
completely organized, was as follows: 
Capt. Philip Hubbard 's Company. 
Col. James Scammon's Regiment of 

Foot, York County, District of 


Captain Hubbard was com- 
missioned June 2, 1775, and his 
descendants still have the original 
document. When he entered the 
service he was about fifty-seven years 
old and had had considerable expe- 
rience in the French and Lndian 
wars. The following is tfie muster 



roll of the company, with time of en- 
listment, under command of Captain 
Hubbard, in August, 1775 : 

Philip Hubbard, Captain, Berwick; 
]\Iay 2. 

'Jedediah Goodwin, 1st Lieut., Ber- 
wick; May 2. 

James Roberts, 2d Lieut., Berwick; 
May 2. 

Simeon Lord, Sergt., Berwick; May 

Joshua Nason, Sergt., Berwick; 
May 2. 

Richard Plummer, Sergt., Berwick; 
May 2. 

•Tristram Fall, Sergt., Berwick; 
May 2. 

Samuel Hubbard, Corporal, Ber- 
wick; May 2. 

Freethy Spencer, Corporal,, Ber- 
wick; May 5. 

Samuel Worcester, Corporal, Ber- 
wick; May 5. 

'Joseph Hubbard, Corporal, Ber- 
wick; May 5. 

Samuel Stevens, Drummer, Leba- 
non; May 20. 

Privates : 

Moses Hubbard, Berwick ; May 5. 
Aaron Goodwin, Berwick, May 5. 
Moses Spencer, Berwick; May 5. 
John Shorey, Berwick; May 5. 
Benj. Row, Berwick; May 5. 
Daniel Lord, Berwick; May 5. 
Stephen Wood, Berwick, May 5. 
Daniel Hubbard, Berwick ; May 5. 
Jeremiah Lord, Berwick ; May 5. 
Wm. Stone, Berwick; May 5. 
Daniel Grant, Berwick; May 5. 
James Wentworth, Rochester; May 

5. • 
Richard Perkins, Lebanon; May 5. 
Benjamin Horsham, Berwick; May 


Elisha James, Lebanon; May 5. 
Wm. Davis, Berwick; May 5. 
Benj. Goodwin, Berwick; May 5. 
James Grant, Berwick; May 5. 
Daniel Wadlin, Berwick, May 5. 
Bartholomew Nason, Berwick; May 

Ichabod Smith, Berwick; May 8. 
Abel Getchell, Berwick; May 8. 
Walter Abbott, Berwick; May 8. . 
Morrill Hobbs, Berwick; May 8. 
Benj. Weymouth, Berwick; May 8. 
Theophilus Abbott, Berwick; May 

Daniel Abbott, Berwick; I\Iay 8. 
Simeon Lord, Jr., Berwick; May 8. 
Aaron Hubbard, Berwick; May 8. 
Moses Courson, Lebanon; May 15. 
Dodifer Garland, Rochester; May 

Jonathan Garland, Rochester; May 

Nathaniel Blewett, Berwick; May 

Daniel Hodgdon, Berwick ; May 15. 
Moses How, Berwick; May 15. 
John Davis, Berwick; May 15. 
Ralph Farnum, Lebanon ; May 15. 
Thomas Downs, Berwick ; May 15. 
Londrast Hearst, Berwick ; May 15. 
John Pugsley, Berwick; May 20. 
Francis Peiree, Berwick ; May 20. 
James Smith, Berwick; May 20. 
Ichabod Downs, Berwick; May 20. 
John Cousens, Berwick; ]\Iay 20. 
Jonathan Buroughs, Berwick; May 

Paul Welch, Berwick; May 20. 
John Peiree, Berwick; May 20. 
Joseph Goodwin, Berwick; IMay 20. 
Gilbert Perkins, Lebanon ; June 28. 
Silas White, Lebanon ; Aug. 12. 
Moses Lord, Berwick; July 11. 
Philip Hubbard, Jr., Berwick ; July 



The origical roll, from which the The point of rendezvous was Ber- 
above was copied, is in the Massa- wick, now South Berwick, and all 
chusetts Archives, Vol. 15, page 33. had gathered there by Saturday- 
Total, 64 men. All had guns and night, June 3. It is not recorded 
all but one were supplied by them- what they did on Sunday, but they 
selves. Only twenty-four cartridge started on the march at sunrise Mon- 
boxes returned in the company and no day morning, June 5, and reached 
bayonets. Hanson's tavern in Dover in season 

There is one remarkable and note- for an early breakfast, and the pro- 
worthy fact in connection with this prietor had everything ready to en- 
company, and that is that Ralph Far- tertain the sixty-four men when they 
num (Farnham) of Lebanon, who arrived. This tavern was what is 
enlisted May 15, was the last survivor now called the old Dover hotel, and 
of the soldiers who participated in the is o^^^led by the Misses Woodman. It 
battle of Bunker Hill. He lived to stands at the "Corner," at the junc- 
be one hundred and two years old tion of Hanson street and Central 
and visited Boston and Bunker Hill avenue. 

after he had passed the century From here they marched to Dur- 
mark. He was received with great ham and halted for dinner at Win- 
honors all along his journey. born Adams' tavern at the Falls. 

Colonel Scammon's regiment This hostelry stood on the hill on the 
marched to Cambridge in companies, east side of "Oyster River freshet," 
one following another, because it was and nearly south of where the SuUi- 
not possible for the taverns along the van monument now stands. Mr. 
line of march to accommodate a regi- Adams was then in the army and was 
ment at one time, and the men had later colonel of a regiment. His 
not the outfit for camping by the way. wife, the mistress of the house, was 
Captain Hubbard's company was the daughter of Israel Bartlett of 
the first to start on the journey. Nottingham, and sister of Col. Thom- 
Each man had armed and equipped as Bartlett, one of the distinguished 
himself with gun, powder, bullets, and men of New Hampshire in the Revo- 
all that was deemed necessary to en- lution. After dinner they marched 
gage in fighting the British army. As to Newmarket and put up at Doe 's 
a matter of fact the dress and equip- tavern for the night. That place 
ments were picturesque rather than was a small village then. Just 
uniform. The housewives did not where the tavern stood I do not know, 
all use the same dyestuff in coloring but it was somewhere near the falls, 
the cloth, nor the tailors the same cut The reader, who has a lively imagin- 
in making the garments; but all had ation and has had experience in feed- 
the same uniform courage and desire ing and providing otherwise for a 
to defend the rights and to preserve crowd of lively and hungry men, can 
the liberties. None but the officers easily see what "mine host" Doe and 
wore uniforms. The following is his wife had to do to meet the wants 
the line of march pursued by Captain of that occasion. 
Hubbard's company. Tuesday, June 6, they left at sun- 


rise and marclied to Exeter before toric Longfellow house. Tims, these 
breakfast, where they halted at Gid- patriots had been four days in travel- 
ding 's tavern and partook of the re- ing about seventy-five miles, over 
freshments that were all ready for roueh roads, each man carrying his own 
them, the proprietor having been baggage. They were paid one penny 
duly notified of the time they would a mile, and free board at the taverns, 
arrive. Resuming the march they The other companies follow in the 
reached Parsons' tavern in Kingston same route from all points in York 
and halted for dinner. The journey county, Me. So the regiment was 
of the day was completed at Sawyer's well in camp before the affair at 
tavern in Plaistow, where they lodged Bunker Hill, in which it took part. 
for the night. On the day of the battle, June 17, 

"Wednesday, June 7, they were out Colonel Scammon's regiment had to 

of bed at daybreak and at sunrise be- march to Lechemere Point, East Cam- 

gan their march to Haverhill, having bridge, opposite Charlestown. No 

first partaken of liquid refreshments, sooner had he reached there than he 

the common beverage of that period, was ordered to "Cobble Hill," later 

At Haverhill they breakfasted at the site of the McLean Asylum. From 

Greenleaf 's tavern. A heavy and vio- there, just after the noon hour, he 

lent thunder shower- came up while was ordered to take his regiment 

they were eating and delayed their across Charlestown Neck to Bunker 

crossing the Merrimack till noon. Hill to join in the engagement against 

hence Mr. Greenleaf had to furnish the British. As they crossed the 

dinner for them. They crossed the Neck they were subjected to a severe 

river and reached Stevens' tavern in cross-fire from the British gunboats 

Andover about sunset, where they in the rivers on each side; but his 

rested for the night. As they neared men did not flinch or halt in the 

the seat of war the rumors of what march through shot and shell. Some 

had happened and was expected soon of the men had seen service and had 

to occur grew thick and interesting, been under fire in the French and In- 

and kept the men talking till the old dian wars, but most of them were 

god Somnus called them to sleep. smelling an enemy's powder for the 

Thursday, June 8, found them up first time as they crossed that narroAV 

and on the march at sunrise for Bal- neck of land. Lieutenant James 

lardvale, where they took breakfast Roberts here had his fiirst experience 

^^jiL-Deacon Ballard's tavern. In the in war, and was one of the bravest of 

forenoon they marched to Wyman's the brave. The record says that when 

tavern in Woburn, where dinner was they were in the hottest and most 

served. In the afternoon they reached dangerous of this cross-fire Colonel 

Wdtherby's tavern, in what is now Scammon shouted to his men :" Come 

Arlington, and encamped for the on, my Yorkshire lads ! Let us show 

night. our bravery!" The men responded 

Friday, June 9, they marched to heartily; they went on, and they did 

Cambridge and were ordered to en- show their bravery all right in the 

camp near General Washington's thickest of the fight, 

headquarters, of a later date the his- After the battle they returned to 



Cambridge and resumed their camp 
duties near General Washington's 
headquarters, engaged in the siege of 
Boston. This regiment was a part of 
the besieging army of 17,000 men, 
who were encamped in a semi-circle 
around that town. They lived in all 
sorts of habitations, a few tents, but 
mostly log-huts. Cambridge was a 
village of 1,500 inhabitants with only 
a few large houses like Washington's 
headquarters. It was not a part of 
the siege to attack the British in Bos- 
ton, but to keep them from getting 
out of it by any other way than by 
their fleet which filled the harbor. 
Washington expected they would 
come out and attack him at any time, 
night or day, so he had his men at all 
times prepared to defend themselves 
against any sudden sally that might 
be made. This was the kind of work 
that Lieutenant Roberts and his men 
had to do, day by day, during the 

The regiment had left York county 
in such haste that the officers had had 
no time in which to get their commis- 
sions, but that proved to be all the 
more fortunate for them, as they 
finally got their papers signed by 
Washington himself, instead of the 
Massachusetts officials. It is said 
that Lieutenant Roberts' commission 
is still in existence with some one of 
his descendants. Of course whoever 
has it has a great prize with the auto- 
graph of George Washington on it. 
Lieutenant Roberts saw the great gen- 
eral often, who is described as a man 
six feet two inches tall; very muscu- 
lar; large hands and feet; a Roman 
nose ; blue eyes ; a fine, large head, 
and his body in grand proportion 
with his head; and he impressed the 
observer as noble and lofty in spirit. 

After Colonel Scammon's regiment 
was through with the siege of Boston, 
Lieutenant Roberts continued in the 
service and rose through various 
grades to that of colonel of a regi- 
ment. He was prominent in town af- 
fairs also. He lost his life in 1780, 
while on a journey down the river to 

One of the men in the company 
kept a diary from which the writer 
was able to trace the route of march 
from Berwick to Cambridge. Scam- 
mon's regiment was the "Thirtieth 
Massachusetts Foot." The Thirty- 
first was Colonel Edmund Phinney's 
regiment of Falmouth and vicinity. 
The Thirty-first marched to Cam- 
bridge in July over the same route 
through New Hampshire and Massa- 
chusetts that has already been de- 
scribed. Of course in passing through 
Dover they did not always stop at the 
same tavern, as there were several 
here at that time. 

One does not have to stretch his im- 
agination very much to appreciate the 
lively times the women of the taverns 
had in cooking enough to satisfy the 
wants daily of sixty or seventy hun- 
gry men on their march to Cam- 
bridge. They not only had to pro- 
vide for those men from Maine, but 
also for the companies in New Hamp- 
shire on their way to the front from 
the towns around J)over. The women 
did not have any modern cooking 
ranges to work with but had to do the 
cooking over fires in open fireplaces 
and in the huge ovens by the side of 
the fireplace. All this work required 
as much patriotism on the part of the 
women as the marching and fighting 
required of the men. No doubt there 
was a good seasoning of fun mixed 
with all the hard work that won 



American liberty for local self-gov- 

The writer has always taken special 
interest in all that concerns the battle 
of Bunker Hill, and no little pride 
that his great grandfather was a pri- 
vate in Captain Henry Dearborn's 
company, Colonel John Stark's regi- 
ment, at the famous "rail-fence." 
, Captain Dearborn was a Nottingham 
man, and later in life rose to be gen- 
eral in the American army. About 
the beginning of the nineteenth cen- 
tury he published his recollections of 
the battle and in it describes the 
march over Charlestown Neck as fol- 

"After completing the necessary 
preparations (at Medford) for ac- 
tion, the regiment formed and march- 
ed about one o'clock. When it 
reached Charlestown Neck we found 
two regiments halted in consequence 
of a heavy enfilading fire thrown 
across it, of round, bar and chain shot 
from the lively frigate and floating 
batteries in the Charles river, and a 
floating battery lying in the river 
Mystic, Major McClary went forward 
(from Stark's regiment) and ob- 
served to the commanders (of the 
halting regiments), if they did not 
intend to move on, to open and let our 
regiment pass. The latter was imme- 
diately done. My company being in 
front, I marched by the side of Col- 
onel Stark, who mo\dng with a very 

deliberate pace, I suggested the pro- 
priety of quickening the march of the 
regiment that it might sooner be re- 
lieved from the galling cross-fire of 
the enemy. With a look peculiar to 
himself he fixed his eye upon me and 
observed, with great composure : 

" 'Dearborn, one fresh man in ac- 
tion is worth ten fatigued ones ! ' and 
he continued the advance in the same 
cool and collected manner as before. ' ' 

It was just the same with Stark 
when he began to fight the enemy at 
the rail- fence covered with new mown 
grass. When he saw the enemy land- 
ing from the boats in Mystic river to 
march up against the New Hamp- 
shire troops, he marched out in front 
of his men and stuck a tall stick in 
the ground; he marched back delib- 
erately to his line and gave orders for 
his men not to fire till the British line 
reached that stick. They obeyed his 
order; the result is recorded in every 
history; the British soldiers were cut 
down as grass before a scythe. When 
the British had reformed and were 
again advancing. Stark gave orders 
not to fire until they could see the 
whites of the enemy's eyes; they did 
so and the whole British line was cut 
down as before. 

Lieutenant James Roberts was not 
in Colonel Stark's regiment, but he 
was just as brave as Stark's men at 
his post of duty. 

By A. T. 

With winter nigh, a butterfly, 

In the sun came floating by, 

And, prophet-like, " O fool," said I, 

" To some summer region hie. 

Else to-morrow thou shalt die." 

But looking then with prophet's eye, 

Where Pleasure's train was passing by, 

From my heart there came a sigh. 

And turning on my way, said I, 

" Man hath not yet become so wise 

That he may preach to butterflies." 


By Louis Milton Boody. 

Uncle Dory had decided to paint thing ! Half on't black as sut with 

the fence. • dust, and tother half jest like powder 

" We hevsechderned mean weather — got some of the stuff on my good 

here on this Cape Cod," remarked he; black britches, too. I don't care so 

" nothin' but fog durin' this time of much for the britches, cos it didn't 

year, and nothin' but a blisterin' hot do 'em any hurt, but Abigail gut 

sun in the summer, thet paint, 'spec- mad as thunder." 

ially white paint, gits to be no better At this juncture Abigail and her 

than whitewash." daughter Hetty appeared at the 

Uncle Dory was on his knees by door, 

the front-yard fence, and, as he ad- "Theodore, you ain't a goin' to 

dressed the foregoing remarks to me, paint thet fence with them pants on, 

he gave force to his words by expres- air ye ? Now, Theodore, do be sen- 

sive waves of the paint brush. sible." 

"Jest look at thet confounded fence. "Well, Abigail, I think 'twould 

Last spring I painted it with the best look better if I kept 'em on." Then 

white lead and good linseed oil — fel- his tone changed perceptibly, as he 

ler I bought it of said 'twas linseed continued in an explanatory manner, 

oil, but I believe the derned stuff was "Abigail, I ain't a goin' to paint — 

powgie oil. Now see the derned not what you 'd call reg'lar paintin'. 



I 'm jest a goin' to cover a few 

Aunt Abby looked distressed. 
"Theodore, you air such a trial. 
You know you '11 be spattered with 
paint from head to foot. Do for 
pity's sake hev a little sense, and 
change them pants ! " 

The Captain's head went up and 
lie gave a snort, "Abigail, you let 
me paint this fence in peace. I 'm a 
goin' to "keep these pants on." 

Aunt Abby returned to the kitchen, 
and Hetty followed after delivering 
this parting shot: "Father, I think 
you are real unlikely." 

"Huh!" sniffed the Captain, 
"unlikely! Ain't thet jest like a 
woman ? Unlikely ! Ged, I 'd like 
to know who 's gut a better right 
than me to say whether I 'm goin' to 
wear these pants or not ! But, then, 
yer can't reason none with a woman. 
No, sirree, yer can't never tell a 
woman nothin'. 

" Now there 's my darter Hetty — 
good girl as ever was — hed a good edu- 
cation — graduated right here at that 
school yer see over yender — school- 
marster said he never hed a smarter 
scholar. But she 's been teachin' 
school now fer a year. Thinks she 
knows all about everything now. 
Been livin' over to Southbay, j^er 
see, en' gut a lot of dern-fool notions 
in her head. 

" She don't like white paint — sez 
'taint the thing now to hev yer house 
painted white. 'Taint artistic, she 
says. En' what Hetty sez Abigail 
will swear to. Ged ! I don't know 
nothin' nowadays. What I say don't 
count. Jest as sure as I say a word, 
why Hetty puts her head back, en' 
kinder gives a little sniff en' sez with 
reg'lar quarter-deck air, ' Father, you 

don't know. Styles hev changed.' " 

The light of battle shone in the 
Captain's eye. 

"Don't know! Don't know ! Hm, 
don't know ! P'raps I don't know. 
Ged, I follered the sea, man and boy, 
for fifty odd year. Shipped as cook 
at ten year, and been mate and mars- 
ter of a vessel, but now, Ged ! Hetty's 
captain, Abigail's first mate, en' I 'm 
workin' before the mast, with the 
whole focsle all to myself. Styles 
hev changed — yes, sir, styles hev 
changed. They didn't hev no sech 
derned, cussed-fool notions, when I 
was a boy, as they do now. 

" Show ! My Godfrey dominy ! 
thet's the ruination of this whole 
country. Show ! Show ! Huh, 
show ! Nothin' but show ! Hetty 
wants a meckintosh — hed one two 
year ago, but 'taint the style now — 
so she sez. 

"Now thet meckintosh is jest as 
good as ever 'twas — don't fit quite 
so good as it did once, of course, fer 
Hettj^'s fleshed up some, but 'twill 
keep rain off jest the same. 

" But then, what 's the use of talk- 
in' ! Talkin' is derned poor business 
when yer run afoul of a woman, 'spe- 
cially if thet woman is Abigail or 
Hetty — might jest as well shet up 
when either of them begins to talk. 
I tell yer what 'tis, a man thet hez 
two women folks at home hez gut to 
sail prett}' clost to the wind. 

"Well, we ain't all built alike- 
some thinks one way en' some an- 
other. Thet makes me think of a 
feller thet used to live here in the 
village — lised to go mate with Cap'en 
Josh Hillerson. 

"Well, the feller gut to goin' 
'round one winter to dances en' sech 
like, en' after a while he begun to 



take a shiue ter Susan Bigsbee, old 
Cy Bigsbee's darter — derned pretty 
girl, too. 

"Well, the}^ was engaged, en' 
'twas understood thet when he gut 
back from the next vyge they 'd be 
tnerried. Things in this world is 
mighty uncertain, "specially mer- 

" Yer see, the feller went whalin' — 
shipped along with a New Bedford 
cap'en, en' 'twas nigh onto three 
years en' a half afore he hove in sight 
agin. Ged, didn't he look fine! I 
recollec' the fust time I see him com- 
in' down the street after he gut back. 
He hed a blue coat en' yeller pants — 
but I 'm gettin' ahead of my story. 

" Sue Bigsbee was a good enough 
girl, but — well, she was about like 
other girls, if yer know what thet is. 
Give me a good vessel en' a decent 
crew, en' I can do a thing or two, 
but I don't know nothin' about a 
girl. Ged, I never set up to be a 
connoshicr on the subject of girls. 

" Well, fer a time after the feller 
went away Sue was pretty dumpish 
- — didn't go nowhere nor seem ter 
care fer nothin' — seemed kinder lone- 
some en' off color — lovesick, I sup- 
pose. Well, she run on thet way fer 
a week or two, en' then she took an- 
other tack. Mopin' want never in 
her line, en' I guess she overdid it. 
Anyway, all of a sudden she come 
out of mournin' — so ter speak — en' 
was as lively as ever. 

" Ged, I had n't ought ter be wast- 
in' my time tellin' yarns en' this 
fence not touched yet ! Abigail en' 
Hett}' will keelhaul me if they come 
en' find me runnin' on like a sea- 
lawyer tTiis way- — might as well finish, 
though, now I 've begun. 

" 'Twas pretty nigh on ter six 

months or so when a feller come down 
here from Boston — a slick lookin' 
cuss, he was, too — buj'in' up cram- 
b'ries fer the firm he worked fer. 
Somehow he happened ter git ac- 
quainted with Sue Bigsbee, en' — 
well, as I said, yer can't ever tell 
nothin' about a girl. Soon 's she 
saw him, with his shiny shoes en' 
standin' collar en' pretty neckties en' 
sech, the fat was all in the fire. He 
hung on here en' he hung on till 
he'd bought every cramb'ry in the 
town, en' he en' Sue was tergether 
the whole endurin' time. 

"Yer know how sech things turn 
out — they thought they could n't live 
without each other — thet fust affair 
was all a mistake, yer know, en' so 
on— yer know how girls talk. 

"Well, he went back ter Boston, 
en' arter a while thej^ was merried 
en' went away ter live — I guess 'twas 
a good match, too. Them en' their 
two children was down here last sum- 
mer — they 've gut two of as likely- 
lookin' children as you ever see — a 
boy en' a girl. 

" When it come time fer the other 
feller to git back, people was kinder 
wonderin' how he 'd take it. Yer 
see, he had n't heard nothin' about 
it, fer when a feller goes off whalin' yer 
can't always tell jest exactly where to 
reach him by writin', so he don't git 
much news from home. There want 
nobody on the train coniin' down 
from Boston thet knew him, en' so he 
didn't hear nothin' about it until he 
was ridin' over on the stage from the 

"Jimmy Smith, the stage driver, 
told me about it. He said they was 
a drivin' along, talkin' of this en' 
thet — things thet had happened while 
he was gone — lots of things happen 



when a feller's away on a whalin' 
vyge, I tell yer. Jimmy sez they 
was along by the old Joe Kent place, 
when the feller said, kinder quiet: 

" 'How's Sue lookin'?' 

"Jimmy said it kinder took him 
back a bit, but he answered some- 
thin' or other. Feller kinder suspi- 
cioned somethin' was wrong, en' he 
begun to ask questions. Jimmy held 
back as best he could, but when they 
gut into the village, the feller sez : 

" 'Jimmy, yer keepin' somethin' 
back from me, en' I don't git out of 
this stage till yer tell me what 'tis 
yer holdin' back.' 

' ' En' then Jimmy told him. Well, 
sir, Jimmy sez the feller jest set 
lookin' quiet-like out over the fields, 
en' keepin' mighty still fer a time, 
en' then he sez : 

" 'Air yer tellin' me the truth, 
Jimmy? ' 

" "God's truth,' said Jimmy. 

"The feller looked down at the 
wheels fer a minute or two, en' give 
a sigh, then he bust out into a laugh. 
Jimmy sez thet laugh made his skin 

" 'Well, there's more than one 
Sue in the world,' said the feller. 

"Well, sir, I'll be derned if he 
didn't go next day en' propose to 
Sue Baker. He told her he never 
cared fer Sue Bigsbee, anyhow, en', 
womanlike, she believed him. They 
was married within a month. 

" Well, as I was a sayin', some 
thinks one way en' some another." 

'.'Theodore," came a voice from 
the house, " air 3'ou a goin' to open 
them oysters fer dinner? " 

" Yes, yes, Abigail, I 'm a comin'." 

"Guess I'll hev to paint thet 
derned fence next week," remarked 
the Captain to me. 


I do everything in Taxidermy. Send me your 
trophies for mounting. Deer Heads a Specialty. 

5end for Price List. 


The Reliable Taxidermist, 



^vintetr0, QSinb(^v0^ 

Railroad Square 



The Granite Monthly. 

Vol. XXX Vn. AUGUST-SEPTEMBP:R, 1904. Nos. 2-3. 


By George I. Putnam. 

Photos by Mr. Baynes except when stated otherwise. 

"Hadn't you better inquire the Baynes the young men will again 
way ? " saj^s your Companion for per- hold up their heads. The large pub- 
haps the twentieth time that morning, lie that has been enjoying his nature 
" Here 's a pretty good looking house stories and studies in the past months 
coming — " will be glad to know something of his 

" If you mean any reflection on the very interesting personality, 

speed of this horse," you reply with A young man just reaching the 

dignity, "by attributing mobility to fresh and able maturity of the early 

such objects as houses, I shall get out thirties ; medium height ; stout 

and walk and compel you to drive, enough to suggest strength ; spare 

As good a horse as there is in the enough to prove the endurance of the 

county, the liveryman told us — " wiry athlete ; built for speed and car- 

" 'T is a small county, and a poor." rying himself with the perfect poise 

" I '11 inquire," says you, preparing of a happy physical training; face 

to alight in the dooryard of the neat, showing the pleasant lines impressed 

red-painted cottage. Some one came by sun and wind as he carries his 

out to meet us, and the some one was studies afield ; a thatch of brown, 

the man we sought. We had reached graying hair ; his face and body the 

the Haven Cottage, in Croydon, and reflex of a mind that is active, dis- 

met its occupant, Ernest Harold cerning, well trained. A genial man- 

Baynes, who welcomed us with the ner that places you on friendship's 

kindly manner that is the key to his footing instantly, and a cheery voice 

success with all the lower animals, that entertains you with story-bits 

man included. and ends of experience in his work 

Mr. Baynes has been spending the with birds and animals. These things 
summer on the eastern border of the mark the man whose success in the 
famous Corbin Park, in Sullivan field of nature study has won him a 
county. New Hampshire, and is now wide public, together wnth recogni- 
domiciled for the winter in Meriden, tion from that veteran, John Bur- 
near the northern end of The Park, roughs, and other of the old time 
Sullivan county has gained some little leaders. Mr. Baynes follows the work 
public attention recently by reason of from heart's choice ; his efforts are 
its many smart and agile centenari- sincere, his descriptions honest. There 
ans ; but with the coming of Mr. is a dependability about the man that 



"Isaac,'' the Turkey Vulture. 

runs through all his undertakings, 
and gives them permanence. 

" Where are the ' critters ' ? " says 
your Companion, trying to look dis- 
appointed. " We expected to see all 
manner of fish, flesh and fowl on the 
fin, foot and wing submitting to your 

guidance round the place. Where 
are they ? " 

" All around us," was the prompt 
reply. "They are a good deal like 
children ; they never show off well 
before company. But we '11 see what 
we can find." 

So we submitted to his guidance, 
and sought the children with due 
care. For aught we could see we 
were as amiable in appearance as Mr. 
Baynes himself ; yet feathers and fur 
flew to greet him, and shunned us as 
if we were the plague. We felt a 
secret aspiration to form ourselves on 
him, but the attempt seemed hope- 
less ; and a little later we decided not 
to interfere with him in au}^ degree. 
That was when, after stationing us at 
a safe distance and out of sight of the 
enemy even, he boldly approached 
the lair of an old lady skunk who, as 
he said, was " fixed ready for busi- 

The Haven Cottage and Croydon Mountain. 



Photo, by L. B. Baynes. 

Mr. Baynes and His Tame Fox, "The Sprite. 

aiess," detached one of her young 
from her maternal breast, and brought 
the little black and white baby to us 
in his hand for our wonder and admi- 
ration. Nothing unpleasant trans- 
pired, and we wondered and ad- 
mired. Joshua's feat of compelling 
the sun to stand still may have been 
more far reaching in its consequences, 
but it seems no more wonderful than 
to compel the mother skunk to stay 
her hand, as it were, in defense of her 
litter. Moreover, we know that this 
was done. Joshua's feat has been 

The barn was in use as a hospital. 
A lame robin ej^ed us from the win- 
dow-sill, his only apparent interest 
being whether or not we brought him 
a worm. A cynical and despairing 
coyote in a stall nursed a leg that the 
young foxes had chewed, and dreamed 

of the freedom of his forbears on 
western prairies, forever unattainable 
for him. A flying squirrel showed 
the most lovable disposition imagina- 
ble, sitting in Mr. Baynes' hand and 
accepting peanuts from strangers 
with charming confidence. He sub- 

' The Sprite" as a Youngster. 



Mr. Baynes' Present Home Near the Northwest Gate of the Blue Mountain Forest. 
Buffalo Herd in Foreground. 

mitted to any amount of handling by 
those experienced hands, while the 
peculiarities that give him his name 
were shown and described. 

Across the road, on a daisy-dotted 

Adult Bull Buffalo. 
One of the Corbin Herd. 

slope and in the cool edge of a wood, 
were a number of big wire crates, in 
each of which some pent-up denizen 
of the wild temporarily acknowledged 
the sovereignty of man as exempli- 
fied in the person of Ernest Harold 
Baynes. In this one, fox kittens ; in 
another, a wolf ; a mature fox in the 
third, and a fourth claimed by a vul- 
ture that flew the length of his cord 
and flopped heavily upon the ground. 
While a young bear, rejoicing in the 
name of "Jimmy," ambled about at 
will, scorning cages, making short 
forays into the wood and up trees, but 
returning with commendable faithful- 
ness to Mr. Baynes whom he had 
quickly learned to recognize as the 
source of bread and milk and other 
things good for young bears. The 
Companion was well convinced of the 
existence of "critters," — he had in- 
clined to skepticism before starting — 
and we made our way back to the cot- 



tage accompanied by as many mem- 
bers of the Happy Family as were not 
detained by cords and cages. 

We were particularly interested in 
the fate of the fox, which Mr. Baynes 
said was soon to be turned loose to 
shift for himself. 

"You wouldn't sell him?" we 

" Yes, if I could get my price," he 
replied, brazenly. " Several men 
have asked what that was, and I al- 
ways give them the same figure — 
one million dollars — no more, for he 
is n't really worth it ; no less, for 
moral reasons." Then he became 
earnest. "As a fact, the fox has 
earned his liberty. He has helped 
me earn my money — he has given me 
my studies, and has posed for character 
in my stories. He has had nothing 
in return. All he wants is his natu- 
ral liberty, and that he is going to 

A Broad-Winged Hawk. 

We demurred a little, for we had 
mental visions of a fox, robbed by 
captivity of his ability to compete 
with other animals in the wild, falling 

Photo, by L. B. Bay?ies. Mr. Baynes and His Tanae Prairie Wolf, "Romulus. 



Young Raccoons at Home. 

a victim to their relentless natures ; 
or of a fox, tame and trusting, trotting 
with unsuspected feet up to a man 
with a gun. But Mr. Baynes held 
there was no danger, — for the fox. 

" Farmers tell me," said he, " that 
the tame fox is the worst fox. He is 
slyer than any other, and he is bolder. 
He will rob a henroost more openly 
and successfull3^ In fact, his opera- 
tions become depredations. His natu- 
ral war is on weaker animals than 
himself, and he will not suffer when I 
turn him loose in the park." 

So we saw that the real danger was 
to Mr. Baynes, and not the fox ; that 
farmers would protest against the 
taming of " varmints," which might 
then be freed and become the worst 
sort of pests. We all know what the 
" embattled farmers " are capable of 
when they take a stand ; so we trem- 

Fawn of White-Tailed Deer in July. 
Showing the Protective Value of the White Spots at this Season. 



bled, a little, for the enthusiastic trees is a lake and beyond that the 

naturalist who would spare the life of heights of the Park mount up and up, 

a single fox and ruin for some farmer's ever clothed with trees, until the lofty 

daughter the income of her poultry line cuts the sky and shuts the west 

yard. We still count, however, on away. One may look and look, and 

the qualities of redemption held by never tire, for the land returns swiftly 

Fawn of White-Tailed Deer in September. 

the farmer's son and a handy shot- 

The Haven Cottage that Mr. Baynes 
occupied is one of those surprising 
houses that keeps its pleasant places 
for the intimate guest. You might say 
it has turned its back on the highway 
with its passers, and keeps its face for 
the hidden side, turned towards the 
glories of the great Park. There 
is a wide, high veranda on this side, 
and the Park fence runs by at a rod's 
distance. Beyond the first fringe of 

to its virgin state, and the green-clad 
folds of the hills inspire restful 
dreams. The mountain curve en- 
closes as an ampitheatre ; north, west 
and south the upraised world-crust 
rims you round, melting in distance 
to deep blue, coming nearer into 
hopeful green, making a blissful soli- 
tude in the centre of which nestles 
the red cottage with the white high- 
way ribboning by unheeded. Here 
one denies the existence of the flesh 
and the devil, believing only in a 



spotless world. Here one who is 
weary may grow strong ; here also a 
naturalist may find the most secret 
and intimate heaven of his desires. 

One immediate result of Mr. 
Baynes' stay in New Hampshire has 
been the arousing of his interest in 
the American Buffalo. With him, 
this means action, and he is already 
deep in the effort to arouse public 
opinion and sentiment to the necessity 
of preserving this noble animal from 

ing the small wild animals of that civ- 
ilized section, and attaining knowl- 
edge upon which he both writes and 
lectures most instructively and enter- 
tainingly. While he has by no means 
exhausted this field of study, his 
desire to widen the field has led him 
to make New Hampshire his home 
at present. The privileges of the 
great Corbin Park have been freely 
given him, with full power to hunt 
therein with all the weapons he de- 

Mrs. Baynes Feeding "Actaeon," tne Fawn. 

extinction. Corbin Park contains a 
fine herd of buffalo, and, taken in 
connection with other herds scat- 
tered through the country, gives 
strong hope of future success. One 
of Mr. Baynes' most interesting lec- 
tures is upon the buffalo, and this, in 
connection with his earnest and con- 
vincing writing, is surely working to 
the result desired. It is a magnifi- 
cent object, and worthy of his best 

For some years Mr. Baynes has 
been doing most excellent work at 
his home in Stoneham, Mass., study- 

sires. As his weapons consist of 
field glasses, camera and note-book it 
is easily seen that the game will not 
suffer by his presence ; while his 
studies of elk, deer, moose, buffalo 
and wild boar in a state of nature will 
certainly enrich man's present knowl- 
edge. For he is doing good work, 
and doing it well. It is a work that 
demands to be done, for mankind 
needs it. It is of high importance. 
When you consider, men have for a 
few generations been getting away 
from nature, wearing black broad- 
cloth and living in cities. It has 



remained for this generation to un- that Mr. Baynes has done is a guar- 
derstand in some measure the folly of anty of the work he will yet do ; he 
this, and to seek a return to the soil, brings fitness to the work, and the 
Pioneers must go ahead and blaze out field is ample, 
the way to this new-old land, encour- 
age the revival of simple living, 
of belief in good old Mother Earth 
and her cures for man's ills, of inter-' 
est in the natural life that ever shuns 
the cities, of love for the beasts, of 
kindness towards them, of a broader 
human sympathy than has been prac- 
tised. Here is work for those who 
understand what is needed, for those 
who hear the call with comprehen- 
sion, who have the physique and 
the courage to endure. The work Young fox Yawning. 


By Ellen Burpee Farr. 

(Read at Bow, N. H., Aug. 25, 1904.) 

New Hampshire's children, roaming wide. 
In many a clime, the earth around, 

Will hear the summons to abide 

For this rare time, with joy profound. 

And with light hearts, will gladly seek 
Their " native soil " 

For "Old Home Week." 

Our Farmer, from the grand, broad West, 
Forsakes his " miles and miles " of corn. 

And hies him straight, with eager zest. 
Back to the state where he was born. 

And fun is there, when " Greek meets Greek,' 
And he " swaps yarns " 

In "Old Home Week." 

The Lawyer leaves the city's din. 

Where piles of brick and stone, uprear. 

And with his client's hard-earned " tin," 
Comes back to freedom, year by 3^ear. 

So for this time, for him bespeak, 
A glad release 

For "Old Home Week." 


> ) 

The Doctor lets his patient "live 

Forgets that " calls " are part of life, 

And for a time dares all to give 
A respite to his world of strife. 

Of him beware I Lest he should seek 
To save your life 

In "Old Home Week." 

Our " Politician " drops his artful " wiles," 
Forgets that " Candidates " were ever born. 

And with the " other party," jokes and smiles. 
The future holds for him no times forlorn, 

While he goes forth, with conduct meek, 
To swell the crowd 

In "Old Home Week." 

Of boys and girls, there comes a crowd, 
With elders in their youthful train, 

Than whom no parents are more proud. 
As with their kin, they meet again. 

What gay old pranks, these youngsters seek ! 
What fun for them 

In "Old Home Week." 

So " down the line " we search and call 
For those old friends, whom once we knew. 

New Hampshire greets them, " one and all," 
And bids them come, the " tried and true." 

But what of those who may not speak. 
Or hear your call 

For " Old Home Week"? 

How many such will not respond ! 

Their souls heed not the calls of life. 
Today, they 're in the " Great Beyond," 

Far from the cares of mortal strife. 
So let them rest ! No longer seek. 

Or wish them back 

For "Old Home Week." 

And some who cannot heed the call, 

Would gladly meet with you once more. 

Send out to them, what e'er befall — 
Those absent ones, whose fate deplore ! 

And for them all your love bespeak, 
With kindly thoughts. 

For " Old Home Week. 

) ! 

So, far from my home, in Sunset land, 
A " Greeting " speeds upon its wa3\ 

For "memories " crowd on every hand. 
Recalling many a happy day 

With those whom you will vainly seek 
To join with you 

In "Old Home Week." 

Shoreline Sketches. 


By H. C. Leslie, M. D. 

" Man alive ! " said Captain Somes, 
one night when I had presented the 
proposition that I must return to my 
city quarters, " I don't want you to go 
until after Thanksgiving. I am getting 
to be an old man and have no near rela- 
tives or children and when this day 
comes around, it is a pretty lonesome 
thins: for Marm and I to sit down and 
gnaw a turkey bone alone. Of all the 
blessings that Providence sends I think 
the great big old-fashioned family is 
about the best. I do n't know of any 
word in the English language that has a 
more solemn sound than — alone. 
When my neighbors' sons and daughters 
come trooping back to the old home on 
this occasion, I feel that I have been 
deprived of a good deal in life." 

That period of time ordinarily devoted 
to summer vacations had long since 
passed. From mountain hostelry and 
seaside resorts the children had returned 
to their schoolrooms and the business 
man to his desk, and still I lingered at 

The trees along the river bank that 
bore the foliage of June, when I first 
saw them, had passed through various 
stages of transformation, the dusty tint 
of midsummer, the painted glories of 
autumn, and now with every gust of 
wind were sending their discarded deco- 
rations to float on the swift-running 
tide. The nights had grown chilly and 
in the early morning the dry grass in 
the yard rustled and crackled beneath 
the feet with the tune of frost. The 
river bank had already borne its first 

silver fringe of thin ice, breaking up 
and floating away in the current with a 
chime and jingle of music, which would 
have been pleasant had it not been a 
prophecy of a sterner grip when it 
would not yield to wind and tide. Above 
in the cold gray of the sky the long ir- 
regular lines of wild geese seeking a 
more hospitable clime betokened the 
coming of a period of inclemency. 

I had from time to time fixed a date 
in my mind when I would pack my 
belongings and return to my studio. 
Some new attraction would, however, 
present itself. Some varying tint of 
light and shade on the river. Some 
subtle unknown influence, and the day 
was indefinitely deferred. It was not 
altogether the appeal of nature that in- 
fluenced me. I had no home of my own 
and even in childhood had been bereft 
of tender associations, clustering around 
the paternal hearthstone, so that the 
kindly unostentatious welcome to a seat 
by Captain Somes' kitchen stove was a 
nearer approach to such comforts than 
I had previously enjoyed. 

Friendships are not always the growth 
of years. There is a mental telegraphy 
that oftentimes tells us on the first 
meeting that here is one whom we have 
heretofore missed in the by ways of life, 
who possesses, characteristics for which 
we have felt the need to complete our 
happiness. Such had been my experi- 
ence in Shoreline. The daily associa- 
tion with its people, their simple, pleas- 
ant lives, undisturbed by the rise and 
fall of stocks in the market place, 



genial, sincere, honest ; these words 
mean so much to one who has seen the 
selfishness of human cattle in larger 
fields, that the touch of unglazed, un- 
varnished kindliness is a constant pleas- 
ure. Unfortunately the smile that has 
not beneath it some ulterior motive is as 
rare as the diamonds of Golconda and 
almost as priceless. 

When the Captain gave me the invi- 
tation to stop over for this crowning 
event of the season's pleasure there was 
a ring and tone of voice that somehow 
conveyed more than the words them- 
selves and as it required but little to tip 
the balance in favor of staying, I decided 
to remain. 

To New England alone belongs the 
custom and observance of Thanksgiv- 
ing Day. Here it originated and here 
transpired the events which gave cause 
for its being. History has engrossed 
the story on its pages, and the veriest 
tyro of a school boy can give the origin 
of the festival. The sons and daugh- 
ters of Pilgrim stock have carried more 
or less of the sentiment to wherever 
they may have made their homes, but 
beyond the confines of New England it 
is a hot-house flower of forced growth ; 
here it is spontaneous in development. 

The poet Whittier must have had in 
mind this New England festival when 
he wrote the description of the wedding 
feast of Weetamoo in the " Bridal of 
Penacook," for surely nowhere else 
could have occurred the suggestion for 
such a scurrying together of good things 
for the delectation of the animal man : 

Bird of the air and beast of the field, 
All which the woods and waters yield 
On dishes of birch and hemlock piled 
Garnished and graced that banquet wild. 

At almost any hour of the day, in 
the fortnight preceding the day set apart 
by the Governor of the Commonwealth 

for the observance of these festivities, 
the Captain could be found in the 
kitchen arrayed in a wonderfully check- 
ered apron covering the protruberance 
supposed to contain his digestive appa- 
ratus, and extending nearly to his feet, 
stoning raisins, chopping mince meat 
and paring pumpkins, or such other culi- 
nary preparations as preceded the 

He had written to his niece in Boston 
who occupied the position of book- 
keeper in a mercantile firm in that city, 
as well as to the schoolmaster in Exeter, 
and received favorable replies from 
both. His injunction to the latter indi- 
vidual, not to forget his fiddle, betok- 
ened more than an ordinary element of 
hilarity. From sly inuendoes casually 
dropped I judged that the meeting of 
the Captain's niece with the young 
schoolmaster was a matter of exceed- 
ingly personal interest to them. 

The afternoon preceding Thanksgiv- 
ing Day the schoolmaster made his ap- 
pearance, rosy and red from a long 
walk across the hills from Exeter, His 
hearty greeting should have compensated 
him for his rough journey on the un- 
even roads of Kensington, but in answer 
to a look of inquiry the Captain said, 
" Sadie will be up with Newell Harden 
the last trip tonight," thus tacitly ad- 
mitting the particular attraction that 
was to recompense him for his long and 
dreary walk in the sharp November air. 
"All mankind loves a lover," and the 
Captain's smile as he made this state- 
ment proved that he was no exception to 
the general rule. 

During the two weeks prior to this 
occasion the Captain's old dory made 
numerous trips to the Port to procure 
the condiments supposed to be neces- 
sary in compounding the various dishes. 
He even went so far as to visit the cider- 



mill at the Buttonwoods and secure a 
keg of Tom Page's best sweet russet 
cider. This apparent lapse from abso- 
lutely strict temperance principles was 
only made on the repeated assurance of 
Mrs. Somes that it was utterly impossi- 
ble to make good mince pies without 
boiled cider, and moreover there was 
the apple sauce to go with the dough- 
nuts and cheese to be thought of. The 
Captain drew a long sigh as he started 
on this mission, well knowing of the re- 
peated statements he would he required 
to make in reply to the sly inuendoes of 
his cronies with regard to secret bibu- 
lous habits. When the Captain returned 
from this unwilling trip Jake Short stood 
on the wharf and cheerfully assisted in 
landing the cargo. " Gor ram him," 
said Capt. Jared, " he is always hanging 
round where he ain't wanted." 

At one time in the early history of 
Newbury, Vt., when the Inanksgiving 
Proclamation was read in church, one of 
the members gravely arose and stated 
that there was not a drop of molasses in 
town and as his boys had gone to south- 
ward to procure a supply he moved that 
the celebration be postponed until their 
return ; which was accordingly done. 
No such untoward event occurred to 
mar Captain Jared's plans, and all things 
went as merry as the traditional mar- 
riage bell. 

The sun arose Thanksgiving morning 
bright and clear but almost immediately 
slipped behind a gorgeously illumined 
cloud. A sure sign according to the 
Captain's standard of predictions that 
it would storm before night. Long be- 
fore the church bell sent forth its appeal 
for devotional exercises, the sky had 
become overcast and the wind echoed 
the somber notes presaging the change. 
The scattered few who responded to the 
call of duty hurried along the bleak 

street holding their wraps close about 
the face. Attractive indeed would be 
the discourse on such an occasion that 
would rival the housewives' considera- 
tion of the condition of the turkey, left 
to assume its most delectable flavor in 
the oven at home, and very popular was 
the preacher who had the good judg- 
ment to deliver an abbreviated ser- 

The Captain evidently did not feel the 
need of spiritual comfort and made no 
effort to respond to the call of the bell 
and accompany Mrs. Somes to the place 
of worship. His frequent trips to re- 
plenish the fire and carefully examine 
the conditions inside the oven door 
might have subjected him to the same 
reproof as the one of old who gave too 
much attention to the affairs of this 
world. His conscientious ministrations 
were amply rewarded and when Mrs. 
Somes returned home from her enforced 
period of rest the long table was in 
proper position and ready to receive its 
burden of smoking viands. 

The Arab of the desert shares his 
pinch of salt with the traveler, beneath 
the folds of his tent, in token of friend- 
ship. The wild Indian of the far West 
when he invites the wayfarer to a seat 
within his lodge and bids him partake 
of his pot of meat precludes all ideas 
of treachery, and gives a guarantee of 
friendly regard. In a like manner the 
New England Thanksgiving table is an 
emblem of love and kindly feeling. 
Here are gathered the few of all the 
wide world most dear to the host. The 
ceremonials of state functions have no 
part or place at this gathering. The 
hired waiter, the obsequious servant is 
not in keeping with the event. The 
personal attentions of the master of the 
house, the watchful eye, the liberal 
hand conveys more than the morsel of 



animal food; it possesses a permeating 
flavor of hearty good will, of more value 
by far than the orderly attendance and 
stately grace of trained servitors. 

In the hour of repletion, over the 
figurative " walnuts and wine," the flash 
of studied wit, the brilliant display of 
oratoric power, bearing the trademark 
of laborious thought, pales before the 
simple stories and personal experiences 
of the host, who, although his efforts 
may bear the musty odor of age, con- 
tributes his best and all for the pleasure 
of his guests. 

As we smoked our after-dinner cigars 
with the wind whistling around the win- 
dow panes and the scattered snowflakes 
whitening the ground outside, the con- 
versation drifted to the inconveniences 
and discomforts of a previous genera- 
tion, who had used the great old-fash- 
ioned fireplace behind the stove, which 
the Captain had closed in favor of more 
modern methods of heating. 

"Yes," said the Captain, "private 
houses were bad enough, but the old 
meeting-house at Rockv Hill took the 
cake on a winter's day with no attempt 
at heating. I have seen the puffs of 
breath going up from the pews like lit- 
tle steam engines. I can remember 
when my mother bought a foot-stove, 
and some of the women said she was 
getting terrible high toned. I used to 
have to go over to the parsonage and 
get my share of coals to put in it and 
take it over to the church. The minis- 
ter's folks always built a great hickory 
fire Sunday mornings so as to have 
plenty of coals for the boys. 1 have 
seen a dozen standing round at a time 
waiting for their turn." 

"What is a foot-stove. Uncle ?" said 
the Captain's niece. " I never saw 


" Bless your soul and body ! " said 

Capt. Jared in astonishment, "am I 
such an old back number that the 
things I know all about you never saw ? 
Well, by Jiminy hill ! you come up in 
the attic and I will show you the very 
one your grandmother used, and lots of 
other things I reckon you never saw. 
The fact is, that when some new thing 
comes around into this part of the 
house an old one goes into the next 
story, and then from there into the 
attic, and if it want for the roof to hold 
them in, I don't know where they would 
go next. Every time house cleaning 
comes around I have to stand guard." 

" Now, Jared," said Mrs. Somes, 
"don't talk that way, and I don't be- 
lieve that anybody wants to go in that 
dirty old place, so now ! " 

This did not prove to be the case, 
and we were soon treading the narrow 
stairs leading to the unfinished space 
beneath the roof. The Captain reached 
under the eaves of the garret and pulled 
out a square wooden frame of quite 
elaborate finish, which served to hold in 
place a perforated tin shell ; inside of 
this was an iron tray designed to hold 
the charcoal, upon the whole quite a 
scientific device for imparting heat. 
On the wall hung a brass warming-pan, 
the duplicate of those that made up the 
somewhat celebrated cargo sent by Lord 
Timothy Dexter to the West Indies. 

A variety of spinning wheels were in 
evidence, great and small, all bearing 
the marks of much service. Pathetic 
reminders of a lost art ; every worn 
spoke telling its story of the devotion 
of patient hands to the needs of bygone 
generations. The Captain undertook 
to explain how the yarn was twisted by 
the spindle and drawn out in long 
threads, but if spirit eyes were looking 
from some shadowy recess, his clumsy 
efforts must have appeared like a trav- 



esty on the skill of those hands that 
spin no more neither do they weave. 
Substantial chairs with broken flag 
bottoms stood here and there. Great, 
solid sea chests lined the wall, filled 
with the discarded finery brought home 
from many a distant land, now regarded 
as simple curiosities, the victims of 
fashion's fickle moods. 

A heavy flint-lock musket stood in 
one corner with two or three rusty cut- 
lasses, the relics of privateering days. 
On a wooden peg near the window 
hung a tall white hat with a long, silky 
fur almost like an animal's. This the 
Captain placed on his head, saying that 
it was his grandfather's wedding hat. 
He found an old green camlet cloak, 
with stiff high collar fastened by a large 
silver hook and chain. With these ad- 
ditions to his wardrobe he posed as the 
dandy of long ago. 

Darkness began to gather in the cor- 
ners of the garret before we descended 
to the sitting-room below, with some- 
what of the same feeling as -one has 
when returning from foreign lands to 
the familiar scenes of home. 

" Now," said the Captain, when he 
had returned to the sitting-room, "let's 
have some real, genuine music. You 
•can talk to me until doomsday about 
harps, pianos and orchestras, but to my 
mind they can't hold a candle to a 
fiddle. That little brown box that the 
Irishman said ' looked like a duck and 
was about the size of a goose, but when 
you turned him over on his back and 
rubbed his belly with a greased stick. 
Holy Mother! but the voice of him!' 
has more in it that will pull the heart- 
strings of a man than anything else in 
the world. 

" You can hear your mother's voice 
in the old songs, your father's solemn 
tone in prayer, the laughter of child- 

hood, the tremulous words of feeble 
age. It's all there ! It's all there ! 

" When I was shipping a crew I 
always paid a man who could fiddle 
two dollars a month extra. Sailors get 
the grumps on a long voyage, and noth- 
ing will take it out of them like the 
snappy notes of a hornpipe. In ten 
minutes they are kicking the deck like 
mad and the squall is all over with." 

The schoolmaster took out his violin 
and handled the bow with the skill of an 
expert. He made no attempt, how- 
ever at classic productions, but played 
the old, sweet ballads of long ago. 

After a little, in spirit of mischief, he 
shifted to the snap and flourish of an 
Irish jig. to which the Captain beat 
time in hearty appreciation, but when 
he suddenly changed to a well-known 
sailor's hornpipe, the Captain sprang to 
his feet and with a skill and agility 
wholly unexpected in one of his years 
and rotund girth footed the well-known 
step. As the music quickened, in fever- 
ish excitement his boot heels beat the 
floor like the long roll of a snare drum. 

" There now, Jared," said Mrs. Somes, 
"I am ashamed of you. What would 
Elder Morton say if he should look into 
the window ? " 

"I don't know what /n- would say," 
said the Captain, " but I say that when 
a man is happy there is no way he can 
show it quite as well as by dancing. 
There's plenty of Bible authority for it, 
too. Whenever there was an especial 
occasion for rejoicing they danced. I 
don't know much about the modern 
fandangoes of hugging and lop-eared 
swinging, but I believe that there is 
nothing that makes one feel better than 
a good, honest breakdown." 

The schoolmaster fingered his violin 
like a guitar and sang two or three col- 
lege songs, then some one suggested 



that the Captain give us a regular old 
sea song. Nothing loth, he cleared 
his throat and started that threadbare 
tale of 

My name was Captain Kidd, 
When I sailed, when I sailed, 

And I murdered William Moore 

And I left him in his gore, 
When I sailed, when I sailed. 

This selection was followed by 

Billy Bowlin and his wife's mother 
Both rode over the bridge together. 
The bridge broke down and they fell in; 
Devil of a bridge, said Billy Bowlin. 

What was lacking in musical rhythm 
was made up in force, and seemed to 
carry the accompaniment of roaring 
sea and wind beating out the chords on 
straining rigging. 

The schoolmaster whispered to the 
Captain's niece, and putting the violin 
in place they sang together the old 
song of Tom Moore's, " Sweet Vale of 

Have song writers lost a delicacy of 
touch and sentiment, or do the cluster- 
ing memories of scenes and events give 
a flavor of their own to bygone min- 
strelsy? Certainly it seems as though 
the pages of the past must be turned to 
feel the heart touch of the best. 

The lights had gone out along the 
shore save here and there where the 
wearying grip of pain called for a 
watcher's sympathy and attention. The 
wind howled in dolorous cadence down 
the wide chimney throat, the windows 
rattled and all the multitudinous sounds 
of a blustering night filled the air. 

I lay awake for a long time, but 
finally dropped into a troubled sleep, 
where Captain Somes' brine-soaked 
songs mingled with the soft, tremulous 
notes of the violin in a way more fan- 
tastic and strange than the abrupt 
flashes of the northern lights that were 
painting the midnight sky. 

The next morning when Newell Mar- 
den's overland express came swaying 
and rattling around the Ferry Corner 
I stood by my luggage on the Captain's 
front steps. 

The theory that language was given 
man for the purpose of concealing his 
thoughts may or may not be true, but 
it is quite certain that the hand grasp 
of a friend gives an assurance of sin- 
cere regard that no words can . rival. 
You may call it mental telegraphy, mag- 
netism, or what not, but there is some- 
thing that goes with it that binds the 
strands of friendship into a firmer cord. 
I felt this as I grasped Captain Somes' 
hand. Little was said, little need be 
said, we knew one another too well to 
play with words. 

The old coach swayed and swang 
down the long street, its genial driver 
shouting his morning salutations to 
every one he met. When the horses 
slowed down to a walk on Cedar Hill 
I turned for a last look at Shoreline. 
A big lump came in my throat as I 
thought of the possible changes that 
might come ere my eyes rested again on 
this scene, if, indeed, they ever did. 

A turn at the top of the hill, and the 
leaf of records of one summer vacation 
was turned. 

Fire Consumed the Soil Twenty Years Ago. 
Soil entirely gone. Rock -washed bare by the rains. No future groivth possible. 



By Fliilip W. Ay res. Forester of the Society for the Protection of N. H. Forests. 


Few realize the importance of the 
forests in New Hampshire. Scat- 
tered as our people are in three hun- 
dred self-governing towns, it is diffi- 
cult to realize the situation or to 
determine a method of forest treat- 
ment. Not only is a very large por- 
tion of the land area of the state cov- 
ered b}^ some form of woody growth, 
— more than seventy-five per cent., 
including the brush land, — but also 
a very large portion is non-agricul- 
tural and can never be productive of 
any but a forest crop. It has been 
estimated that the present gross pro- 
duct of the forests in the state is 
:$i6,ooo,ooo annually, and that at the 
present rate of cutting spruce in the 

northern towns this product must 
soon be greatly diminished by ex- 
haustion of supply. The old pine 
growth is gone already, but it re- 
produces rapidly, and we are reaping 
a large return annually from second 
growth. By proper management, 
getting pines instead of hard woods 
to succeed pines, as can easily be 
done, and has been done in the state 
repeatedly, the income from our pine 
forests can be more than doubled, 
perhaps quadrupled, while by a dif- 
ferent method, of cutting, our spruce 
supplies can be made to hold out 
much longer. 

The clean cutting of spruce on our 
high mountain slopes, practised by 
all of the great paper companies, is 
wasteful in the extreme, and in many 



Ttiis Tree Snows How the Soil was Consumed by Fire. 
Tiuo feet and eight inches luere hiiriieii away. 

instances, especially when the slash 
is consumed by the great fires, the 
soil is destroyed, and a future crop 
of any value is postponed for several 
centuries and sometimes forever. The 
accompanying picture photographs 
the soil consumed by fire, where for- 
merly, only twenty years ago, a great 
forest stood. Germany and France 
have learned by much bitter experi- 
ence that floods and timber famine 
follow destructive lumbering in the 
mountains. They now use the wiser, 
selective method, taking out only 
mature trees. We are following their 
former methods, without profiting by 
their experience, and when we awake 
to our real needs it may be too late. 
These considerations do not concern 
our summer visitors; they are not a 
matter of sentiment, but primarilj^ of 

bread and butter to our all-the-year 

How essential a proper treatment 
of the forests becomes is seen in towns 
like Roxbury, formerly a flourishing 
community, but now without a post- 
office, or Saron or Richmond or man}- 
others that are not what they were 
when farming and lumbering com- 
bined yielded a comfortable living, 
for which the farms alone are inade- 
quate and no longer used. It is in- 
evitable that many of our mountain 
towns now flourishing will follow 
their example. Indeed, Bartlett and 
Tamvvorth have done so already, and 
are dependent largely on the summer 
visitors. It appears to be only a 
question of time when the present 
prosperity of several of our mountain 
towns will disappear. 



As the forest grows slowly, and 
when abused produces tree weeds or 
species of little value, often for a hun- 
dred years or more, legislation is nec- 
essary — more necessary to a rational 
forest management than to general 
agriculture, yet our forest laws are 
few and inoperative. 


How can the situation be changed ? 
In the following ways : 

1. By spreading as widely as pos- 
sible, among woodland owners, a 
knowledge of tree growth and tree 
values, and the best methods of cut- 
ting and of reproducing a forest. 
The Grange has been active in this 
regard, and can do still more. The 
Society for the Protection of New 
Hampshire forests provides lantern 
slides, and a lecturer free, except the 
expenses of the lantern. 

2. There should be better laws on 
the subject of forest fires. Last year 
eight thousand acres burned over in 
the town of Bethlehem, two thousand 
in Franconia, twelve thousand in 
Milan and Berlin ; more than two 
hundred thousand in the state at 
large, causing a loss in present values 
estimated at one and one half mill- 
ions of dollars, with loss to young 
growth and to the soil that is beyond 
estimate. Several states, including 
New York, Massachusetts and Min- 
nesota, have a fire warden in each 
town to put out small fires and to 

bring forces quickly to bear upon 
large ones. There are striking ex- 
amples of the benefit of this system 
in New Hampshire where private 
wardens have been employed. 

3. By providing a nursery for the 
distribution of forest seedling trees 
and seeds at cost. 

4. By establishing one or more 
areas in the state under expert man- 
agement, to demonstrate the financial 
value of proper treatment of the for- 
est, and to preserve some of the vir- 
gin forest, both of pine and spruce, 
of which now very little remains of 

5. By the establishment of a na- 
tional forest reservation in the White 
Mountains. A bill for this purpose 
has been introduced in both houses 
of congress. It has passed favorably 
the Senate Committee on Forest Res- 

Everj^ one who is interested in the 
preservation of the forests on these 
mountains, and in their more con- 
servative use, is urged to write to 
his or her representative in congress, 
urging the passage of this bill. Per- 
sons of New Hampshire birth or an- 
cestry, living in other states, can lend 
most valuable aid in this direction. 
Within the state the immediate ob- 
jects to work for are better laws to 
protect our forests from fire, and one 
or more state reservations under ade- 
quate care. 


By Jesse H. Buffutn. 

The trouble began in a way that 
many troubles do, by my father's 
determination that I should enter the 
ministry. At first this did not con- 
cern me very much, for I was but 
fourteen years old when the subject 
was first broached, but as time ac- 
cumulated I was so overwhelmed by 
the realization of my own sinfulness 
that I could not for a moment enter- 
tain the idea of correcting the same 
idiosyncrasies in others. 

I gave this explanation to myself, 
for it was in a way comforting. 

The inevitable climax came at 
last, and to the query, "What on 
earth are you going to do?" I 
promptly replied, "Go to my uncle 
and learn to quarry." 

"Hugh! " 

What made this sudden disposition 
of the problem possible was the fact 
that my uncle, Allen Eastman, owned 
a granite quarry far up in the " wilds " 
of New Hampshire, as my father 
termed it, in the beautiful White 
Mountain region ; or, more particu- 
larly, in the quiet village of North 

About my experiences in this 
strange position I .shall tell you but 
little, for six weeks of quarrying 
ended in my extreme inquisitiveness 
being rewarded with a broken leg — 
two places, broken ribs — about six, 
and severe internal injuries. 

My accident, which occurred in 
early spring, had been a peculiar one 

the doctor said, and I was informed 
that I had a summer of idleness be- 
fore me — to boot, the impossibility of 
a railroad journey home. 

So I began to make the most of 
North Conway. 

When I say that the trouble all 
began with my father, I am partially 
wrong, for had I not been born with 
a seemingly inherent love for rail- 
roading, I would not be telling you 
this story about myself — I mean about 
Dempsey, — for I play but a poor part 
in the little tragedy soon to be 

Do not expect a graphic account 
of some deep-laid mathematical plot 
of a boy train despatcher, whereby 
he saves scores of lives by a single 
touch of the finger and brings the 
Ivimited in on time. It is a railroad 
story, to be sure, but of the practical 
coolness of an obscure fellow who, 
when he was needed, was there and 
able to think. The young man who 
wonders how he can succeed may 
read this with profit, perhaps. 

I reveled in the unspeakable beau- 
ties of a springtime in the woods. I 
have learned where and when to 
spend my vacations, for the veritable 
nature-garden of the North Conway 
region cannot be surpassed. I took 
many walks after I had laid my 
crutches aside, and although I was 
weak and could stand but little ex- 
ertion, I was constantly expedition- 



My fascination with things railroad 
led me to quite frequently pay visits 
to the depot, water tank and round- 
house. North Conway marked the 
terminus of the Boston & Maine. 
The Maine Central passed through 
another portion of the village, run- 
ning north and west up through the 
White Mountains. It was on this 
branch that Dempsey did his ' ' trick. ' ' 
I would each night at 6 o'clock stand 
and watch the engineer "put her to 
bed" in the roundhouse. The en- 
gines — there were three during the 
busy season — would come in from the 
turn-table panting just like "humans," 
as if they had done a hard day's 
work and wanted you to know it. 

I did not confine my perambula- 
tions to the tank, switches or round- 
house, but occasionally would saun- 
ter into the cool depot, where the 
click of the relay fascinated and at- 
tracted me. For hours between train 
times, when the place was not busy, 
I would sit and chat with the ope- 
rator. It was thus that I got to 
know Dempsey. Dempsey was the 

I had lived this way for about a 
month, perhaps, going and coming 
at will, doing nothing and wanting 
to do nothing, when one day after 
our customar}^ chat about nothings in 
particular, Dempsey said to me : 

" Why don't you learn to trick? " 

He called everything a "trick," 
from booking cars to refilling bat- 

Dempsey nagged me continually 
about learning to operate. I have 
wondered many times at his interest 
in me, and as I have grown to know 
him better, I believe it was because 
he hated to see me kill time. I was 
indeed getting into a bad way. With 

nothing on earth to occupy one, one 
gets tired of life even. So I began 
to learn the alphabet. As I grew a 
little more and more adept, the incen- 
tive became stronger, and I found 
myself spending several hours each 
day, wrapt mind and soul in the sim- 
ple instrument before me. This went 
on until about the 13th of June, 
when, as the "summer" business 
began, there came down from the 
" C. F. D." the peremptory order to 
" Stop that novice work at C — y," 

My ambition gauge dropped about 
fifty degrees, but Dempsej^ who was 
resourceful if anything, sent me sky- 
ward again by running a private line 
from the ofhce to his boarding-house 
and thence to my own room. Thus, 
whenever a spare hour came, whether 
daytime or evening, he coached me. 
I soon became an "expert," as my 
chum enthusiastically declared. 

It was well along in July when an 
incident occurred which, though I 
placed no value on it at the time, 
proved of much consequence to me a 
little later on. I was spending the 
afternoon in the office as usual. 
Dempsey had left me, going out on 
some errand or other, and I was sit- 
ting alone, listening to the dull drone 
of the haymaking as it came up from 
the intervales beyond. Suddenly the 
relay began to speak. I knew the 

call instantly : ' ' C— y C— y . " It 

was the ofhce call, and it kept com- 
ing insistently. It grew more impe- 

I trembled -a little at what I was 
doing, but I opened in and, scarce 
realizing what I was doing, took 
down orders, flagged trains and, as 
some say, saved a few lives. I speak 
shortly of this, for it has nothing 
to do with Dempsey, and does 



not compare with what he did in 
the mountains in the little town 
of Bartlett. 

The summer was far spent. I had 
found time, when I was not sending 
whole chapters of " Quincy Adams 
Sawyer" over the wire to my friend 
of the key, to take in all the sights 
in the vicinit}', and my conquering 
spirit yearned for fresh fields of ad- 
venture or work, for Dempsej' had lost 
for me my laziness. I had climbed 
Washington, Moat, Kearsarge, and 
passed raptures on the various scenes 
and places of the famous White 
Mountain region. 

My uneasiness for w^ant of occupa- 
tion was increased by a letter from 
home stating that my father had se- 
cured for me a position in a business 
house. It was time that I made some 
move. When I communicated to my 
chum this intelligence he was deep- 
ly interested, and distressed at the 
thought of my going back to New 

"It will never do," declared he, 
"you were cut out for the railroad 
and you won't fit anywhere else." 

" Say," he continued, after we had 
stood a while in silence brooding 
over the matter, "will you take a 
trick if I can get one for you ? ' ' 

"Yes," I said, though with no 
faith in the outcome. 

My chum was enthusiastic and 
volubly assured me of a job soon 
found. I left him, myself far less 
hopeful of so delightful a result. 

Though I had always entertained 
full confidence in my friend Dempsey, 
I was genuinely surprised to receive, 
as I did a few days later, my appoint- 
ment to the night trick at Bartlett, a 
small town up in the mountains. It 
was here that my hero was to win 

fame for himself and a better job 
for me. 

I found my new duties very agree- 
able, and in time overcame the in- 
tricacies of the position with some 
assistance from my ever-ready friend 
down the line. During the remain- 
der of the summer, and w^hile the 
days were still hot, I found much 
leisure time, for my duties were light, 
as the passenger service, though 
brisk, alone demanded vay attention. 
The freight traffic would begin to 
pick up in the early fall. 

But while I had much time to spare 
from my work, I was not going to be 
allowed to lapse into idleness. Demp- 
se}^ kept the wire hot. He first de- 
clared that I was not always going 
to hang out at Bartlett, and " 5^ou 
want more speed." He made me an 
expert in abbreviating, and no code 
or system in vogue in the railway 
world but what I could tick off 
glibly. On hot afternoons during 
August and early September we had 
delightful chats over the wire. I 
would sleep during the forenoon and 
spend the remainder of the day in 
the ofiice. Occasionally he would 
try me for speed. Under his direc- 
tion I accomplished a great deal, and 
during those periods when the wire 
would be almost entirely quiet, I 
would send him whole chapters of 
some favorite novel we would both 
be reading. Dempsey, w^ho was an 
expert stenographer as well as teleg- 
rapher, would "take me down" in 
shorthand and repeat all I would 
send. I in turn would verify the 
stuff. In this way we both got in 
much excellent practice. 

As the fall freight season opened 
in I found but small time for " novice 
work," so termed by the C. T. D. 



The real work was beginning for 
me, and the heavy freight traflfiic kept 
me pretty well occupied throughout 
my trick. Nothing outside the de- 
spatcher's office is called a "trick," 
but I had fallen into Dempsey's- 
phonology readily. 

Coal and live stock and grain 
went up the line, and lumber and 
stone came down. A lot of mixed 
traffic was sprinkled in, but this con- 
stituted the principal business on the 

Just why I never could determine, 
but the Bartlett freight yard seemed 
the dumping ground for all the empty 
freight cars north and east of Phila- 
delphia. My predecessor informed 
me that on one occasion, in mid- 
winter, there had been a thousand 
cars in the yard at once, and " they 
made a nasty snarl," said he, adding 
significantly, "they changed opera- 
tors next day." As the season's 
work advanced I began to realize 
what a "nasty snarl" might be, for 
several times my wits, and speed at 
the ticker, were taxed to the ut- 
most to keep things out of a hopeless 

A snowstorm in the White Moun- 
tains means something. December 
had come and gone, and still no snow 
— only a few inches. No genuine 
snowstorm had appeared. I was old 
for m}'' years, and accepted this as a 
warning before disaster, for an "old 
timer" meant business for the ope- 
rators. There w^ere always blockades 
and rear-end collisions and such like 
to keep the poor fellows on nerv^e's 

Dempsey came up to see me early 
in January — I think it was of a Fri- 
day — and as my trick began at 6 in 
the afternoon, he said he would stay 

all night with me. He was off duty 
for a few days and was well rested. 
The night before it had begun 
snowing, and continued to snow 
all through the day following. 
When I went on at 6 a blizzard was 

All day long empty cars had been 
piling into the yard. The chief 
despatcher evidently realized the in- 
expediency of sending them further 
into the mountains in the face of 
what promised to be the biggest 
storm occurring in years. 

It was none too warm, even in the 
office, yet sweat was pouring off my 
face as the strain increased. 

It was near midnight. 

I had no time for sociability. But 
Dempsey did not need entertaining. 
Despite his assurances that he felt 
"fresh as that young fireman on '71," 
he was now fast asleep. 

The snow was now man}' feet deep 
and still falling fast. A double- 
header had just pulled in with thirty 
empty cars. The sidings were all 
full, .so there she stood on the main 
track, fast losing her outlines beneath 
the heav)', clinging flakes which fell 
with amazing rapidity. I had booked 
every car so far, and had reported 
983 in the yard. I had done a hard 
night's work, and weak from the ex- 
ertion and rush, lounged back in my 
chair watching the snow as it drove 
by the window. I could scarcely 
distinguish the train on the track 
in front of me, only a few feet 

The relay snapped — "B — tt, ' ' rather 
viciously, I thought. The wire had 
been talking some stuff about a spe- 
cial, but I had scarcely heard. It 
was with some misgivings that I 
opened. I was horrified when Liver- 



more, next above, told me that special 
No. 5 had just passed. 

I forgot all about Dempsey. 

Opening on the C. T. D. I told him 
the situation. He swore in red-hot 
English and it snapped over the wire 
in an ugly way. 

"Flag her! " 

She had a snow plow in front and 
could n't see a red barn on fire. 

" Back 86 [the double-header just 
in] down to Conway." 

" 86 stalled and can't move." 

" . No. 5 is lost and you ." 

I don't believe I heard him finish, 
for I sprang across the room at Demp- 
sey. Both he and the chair went to 
the floor together. I had been a little 
hasty. But I was helpless ; and of 
course Dempsey would find a way out. 
You see I had boundless confidence 
in my benefactor. He sprang up and 
plied me with questions. He said, 
^' I have twenty minutes yet," grab- 
bed a lantern and rushed out the 

Opposite the depot and parallel 
with the main track, on which stood 
freight train No. 86, ran a steep em- 
bankment. Between this track and 
■embankment lay another track, a sid- 
ing. On this stood a work train with 
derrick. Dempsey took this all in at 
a glance, though he was somewhat 
familiar with the ground. There 

were, in the roundhouse across the 
yard, about twenty-five men, train 
hands and accustomed to rough work. 
In a few moments he had these men 
with shovels releasing the work train, 
rear and front. In the meantime the 
donkey engine was started, and one 
by one the empty cars of train 86 
were picked up and dumped gently 
over the embankment. 

It takes some time to handle thirty 
cars in this way. Dempsey had the 
job completed including the locomo- 
tive, with the exception of two cars 
filled with hay, when up the line 
sounded a whistle. No time to lose ! 
While the derrick grappled one of the 
remaining cars, Dempsey sprang to 
the other. A lurid blaze shot sky- 
ward through the thickly falling snow. 
Above the storm came the rushing of 
steam and hissing of brakes, and spe- 
cial No. 5 came to a standstill, with 
her engine half way through the burn- 
ing car. The wreckage was cleared 
away in a few minutes, and the special, 
with clear track, passed on down the 

Dempsey is now at Portland, and I 

am holding down a good job at W , 

one of the best positions on the road. 
This, however, is several years after 
Dempsey did his "trick" in the 

By Laura Garland Carr. 

Who does not earn, by work of brain or hand. 
His place in life, wherever that may be — 

Is but a useless cumberer of the land 
And lives — by charity. 


By Gilbert Patten Brown. 
I.ive free or die — death is not the worst of evils.— John Stark. 

From the lives of many of the prom- 
inent men of past generations, we of 
this progressive age can profit much. 
While their forms are unseen by the 
human eye, their deeds of valor are 
monuments in modern civilization. 
Empires of the old world have been 
born and destroyed by the children of 
men. In the new world a republic 
has been formed, as a home for the 
oppressed of all races and creeds ; 
and in that home the Declaration of 
Independence will serve as a Bible for 
the rights of human kind forever. 

In 1493 the Duchess of Burgundy, 
widow of Charles the Bold, sent under 
Gen. Martin Swart a distinguished 
body of German grenadiers to take 
part in the invasion of England, in 
support of the claim of a pretender to 
the throne of Henry VII. The in- 
vading forces were defeated, and those 
whose good fortune it was to survive 

fled to Scotland, where they had the 
protection of the Scottish king. 
Among that large body of soldiers 
were several men, mighty in stature 
and intellect, bearing the name of 
Stark. From one of those men of 
Germany's best blood the subject of 
this memoir descended. In the books 
of heraldry we find mention as 
to one of this distinguished name 
having saved the life of the king of 
Scotland. Archibald Stark was born 
at Glasgow, Scotland, in 1697, and 
was graduated from the university of 
that city. While he was young, the 
family moved to Londonderry, Ire- 
land, at which place he married Miss 
Eleanor Nichols. In 1720 they, to- 
gether with other Scotch-Irish fami- 
lies, came to the new world and set- 
tled in the old town of Nutfield, among^ 
the forests of the New Hampshire 



The warlike hand of the red man 
seemed to cause a cloud of gloom to 
hang over that part of the country, 
and giant Archibald Stark at once 
took up arms in defense of the king 
against the natives. 

The inhabitants of I^ondonderr}^ 
were in some instances protected from 
the savages through the influence of 
Father Rallee, the Catholic friar of 
Norridgewock, who informed the In- 
dians that they would surely go to 
hell if they meddled with the Irish. 

John Stark, his son, was born in 
Nutfield (now Londonderry), New 
Hampshire, August 28, 1726. He 
received but little education, yet the 
best the town at that time could af- 
ford. But like Franklin "improved 
himself in books," so when arriving 
at manhood the hunter boy of Lon- 
donderry possessed the rudiments of 
an ordinary English education. He, 
together with his brothers, William, 
Samuel, and Archibald, held commis- 
sions in the king's service during the 
" Seven Years," or so, often called the 
"French War," of 1754 to 1760. 
On August 20, 1758, he married Miss 
Elizabeth Page of old Dunbarton, 
N. H. She was of sweet manners, 
of rare beauty, and of Norman and 
Celt extraction. The following chil- 
dren were the fruit of that marriage : 
Caleb, Archibald, John, Jr., Eleanor, 
Eleanor, 2d, Sarah, Elizabeth, Mary, 
Charles, Benjamin Franklin, and 
Sophia. The emigrant is buried in 
the beauteous city of Manchester, 
N. H., where a rude .stone is seen, 
bearing the following epitaph : 

Here lies tlie body of ISIr. 
Archibald Stark. He 
Departed this life June 25th, 
1758, Aged 61 Years. 

Although the Starks had served the 
crown faithfully in colonial times, 

when the dark cloud of the war of the 
Revolution came, no family in all 
New England took a more firm stand 
against the British longer ruling the 
American colonies than this one 
family. Excitement ran throughout 
that town, and they were foremost in 
the new and most vital issue. After 
the battle of Lexington (1775) John 
Stark was appointed colonel in the 
"Massachusetts' Line," and on the 
following month was appointed by the 
general court of New Hampshire, 
colonel to command the First New 
Hampshire regiment, which body, 
with Colonel Stark at its head, was in 
the thickest of the fray at the battle 
of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775. 

In 1776 he served in the Canada 
campaign under Maj.-Gen. John Sul- 
livan, LL. D. In the battles of Tren- 
ton and Princeton his regiment played 
a most conspicuous part. He being 
of modest disposition, therefore, 
claimed but little credit for his vast 
achievements, and was superseded by 
congress. This grieved the great- 
hearted patriot, who at once resigned 
his commission and quietly retired to 
his farm at old Merrimack, where he 
" patiently bided his time." 

Much grieved were the New Hamp- 
shire people, as they had seen the 
mistake made by their honorable and 
patriotic body in failing at a very 
early date to appoint the hunter boy of 
wild Londonderry a colonel, thus per- 
mitting the Massachusetts colony to 
commission him. In 1777 he again 
left his loving wife and family amid 
the granite hills and took up the 
sword of human justice and fought at 
Bennington with results well known 
to history. As a volunteer he had 
joined General Gates and had fought 
with distinction and bravery at the 



battle of Saratoga. After having 
been ordered by General Gates to 
send away his troops (and somewhat 
doubting the patriotism of Gates) he 
wrote the following letter : 

Albany, June i, 1778. 

To the Mayor and Council of Albany : 
Gentlemen : 

As I am ordered b\- the Hon. Major-General 
Gates to send to Fishkill all the Continental 
troops from this place, with the British 
Hospital, I must beg the favor of you to mount 
the guards for the security of the city and the 
stores in it. 

Your compliance will much oblige 

Your friend and verj- humble servant, 

John Stark. 

General Gates had not acted in a 
friendly manner to General Stark, as 
he well knew the New Hampshire 
veteran to be an honest man, and 
Gates was not so. General Stark, 
like the majority of those foremost in 
the patriot cause, was a member of 
the Masonic institution. It had been 
his wish for many years to be a 
Mason (some of his dearest friends 
were members of army lodges). 
In the busy and then much troubled 
town of Albany, N. Y., was old 
" ^Masters' lodge, No. 2 " (now Mas- 
ters' lodge, No. 5), among whose rolls 
of membership were the names of 
many men distinguished in colonial 
and Revolutionary life. The name of 
"John Stark, Brigadier-General," 
was proposed by a fellow-ofhcer to 
" Masters' lodge," and on January 9, 
1778, he was initiated into the ancient 
craft. There gathered upon that oc- 
casion at this fraternal shrine many of 
his military compeers. Repaid " 5L, 
for initiation, 8s. to Tyler, and 4s. for 
extra lodge, ' ' and after his being there 
entered, crafted, and raised to the 
degree of a Master Mason, no prouder 
member of the fraternity could be 
found in all the Continental army than 

the volunteer of Saratoga. In 1780 
he served with marked bravery in the 
New Jersey campaign, and in 1781 
had command of the Northern depart- 

On October 4, 1777, the continental 
congress passed the following act : 
" Resolved, That the thanks of con- 
gress be presented to General Stark 
of the New Hampshire militia, and 
to the officers and troops under his 
command, for their brave and suc- 
cessful attack upon and signal victory 
over the enemy in their lines at Ben- 
nington, and that Brigadier-General 
Stark be appointed a Brigadier-Gen- 
eral in the army of the United States. ; ' 

From the above date he bore a com- 
mission of a regular brigadier-general 
and served to the close of the war, 
when he was brevetted a major-gen- 
eral September 30, 1783. General 
Stark was noted for his unique 
phrases. Just before the battle of 
Bennington things looked critical to 
the Americans ; he there addressed 
his soldiers in a most fitting manner. 
His words gave them fresh courage, 
and in concluding, he said : " We 
must conquer, my boys, or to-night 
Molly Stark sleeps a widow." Those 
last words reminded them of their 
homes, and all that was dear to them. 
Just previous to the battle of Bunker 
Hill, a British officer asked General 
Gage if he thought the provincials 
would stand the fire of the king's 
forces? He replied: "Yes, if one 
John Stark is amongst them — he 
served under n-ie at Lake George, and 
was a brave fellow. ' ' At Bunker Hill 
an old soldier cried in tears to General 
Stark: "My son has fallen dead." 
The giant warrior replied : "Is this 
a time for private grief, with the foe 
in our face? " 


In his official account of the battle Northern department, and the name 

of Bennington, General Stark thus of vStark was upon the lips of all 

writes: "It lasted two hours, the patriots. 

hottest I ever saw in my life ; it pre- At the end of the war he retired to 

sented one continued clap of thunder ; his farm in New Hampshire. He 

however, the enemy were obliged to was popular only as a soldier. By 

give way and leave their field pieces his youthful training he had become 

and all their baggage behind them ; well skilled in the art of warfare. As 

they were all environed within two a farmer he was unsuccessful, and in 

breastworks with artillery ; but our politics he took no part. He died 

martial courage proved too strong for May 8, 1822. In Manchester, New 

them. I then gave orders to rally Hampshire, upon the banks cA. the 

again, in order to secure the victory : Merrimack, on a high bluff of land, 

but in a few minutes was informed stands a monument to the "Hero of 

that there was a large reinforcement Bennington." The inscription is 

on its march within two miles. Col- simply 

onel Warner's regiment, luckily com- Major-Generai stark. 
ing up at the moment, renewed the Gentle reader, there rests all that is 
attack with fresh vigor. I pushed for- earthly of the scout of rural London- 
ward as many of the men as I could derry, in whose veins there flowed 
to their assistance ; the battle contin- blood of the chivalry of early Ger- 
ued obstinate on both sides until sun- many. The pine-covered hills of the 
set; theenemj' was obliged to retreat ; town of his nativity seem, as each 
we pursued them till dark, and had springtime comes around, to sing a 
the day lasted an hour longer should requiem to a sacred memory : 

have taken the whole body of them." sleep on, thou warrior, ever bold; 

Since the death of General Mont- Men think of thee no shame. 

gomery , this victory was the first event ^'o^r like could ne'er be gained with gold, 

,, Nor insults touch thy name ! 

that had proved encouraging in the 


By A. H. H. 

My little hope plant, promised much 
In the spring of the opening year ; 

I've tried so hard, to nourish it right 
To my heart was its life so dear. 

The sun has tended the garden flowers, 
And they have been full of bloom ; 

But not one bud has ray little plant had 
And my heart is filled with gloom. 

The seeds are scattering over the earth. 
Nature's perfect work is done ; 

But my little plant I have misunderstood ; 
The lot of many a one. 




Having established my own ex- 
istence in the first chapter, with some 
account of the immediate environ- 
ment around my childhood and 
youth, it is proper next to consider 
the antecedents. Everj^ person, by 
inheritance, is but a kind of net re- 
sult of thousands of ancestors, both 
for his physical and mental structure. 
We understand heredity, as yet, very 
little in its details; but of its general 
-effect there can be no doubt. The 
puzzle is to reconcile multiplicity 
with unity ; the individual is one, 
his forefathers are innumerable. Is 
he, am I, a composite photograph 
of the multitude, or has some syndi- 
cate, or some powerful antecedent 
unit, impressed on me characteristics 
not of the generality, but specially 
traceable to him or them? I incline 
to the latter alternative, not only 
from a general survey of the field of 
heredity, but from special facts in 
my own genealogy. 

The Sambornes of England, who 
came over with their grandfather, 
the Puritan ejected minister. Rev. 
Stephen Bachiler, were purely Eng- 
lish, so far as knowm ; but possibly 
Norman rather than Saxon, and per- 
haps with a comparatively recent 
French admixture, through the Bach- 
ilers, with their kindred, the Merci- 
^rs, Priaulx, etc. The Eeavitts, my 
mother's ancestors, were also purely 

English, but from more northern 
and eastern counties, — Lincoln or 
Yorkshire, instead of Wilts and 
Hampshire. No Irish strain ap- 
pears in either line until some gene- 
rations after the migration. Bach- 
ilers and Sambornes and Husseys, 
all kindred, were among the found- 
ers of Hampton; Eeavitts, of two 
different stocks, were among the 
founders of the next town, Exeter. 
A certain connection by affinity 
seems to have existed between my 
ancestor, Thomas Leavitt, and his 
pastor, Rev. John Wheelwright, who, 
with the first Wentworth, and two- 
score others, founded Exeter. But 
nothing not English appears in that 
line; the wife of the first Eeavitt 
being the daughter of John Bland, a 
good English name. 

Now about 1650 there appeared in 
Hampton, N. H., a stalwart Irish- 
man, Philip Towle, called a "sea- 
man," and of course a Protestant, 
who in 1657 married a daughter of 
the same Isabella Bland from whom, 
through the Leavitts, I am de- 
scended. At the age of sixty-two 
he had a son Caleb, who mar- 
ried Zipporah, daughter of Anthony 
Brackett (an Indian fighter whom 
the Indians slew), and had eleven 
children, all but one leaving families. 
Caleb's son Philip,. grandson of Cap- 
tain Brackett, married Li'dia Dow, 
and had a daughter Esther, who 
married Benjamin Eeavitt, great- 
grandson of Isabella Bland, and 
therefore second cousin of Esther 



Towle. About the same time VL\y 
other great-grandfather, Benjamin 
Sanborn, married Anna Towle, sec- 
ond cousin of Esther, so that by 
those two marriages the Towle in- 
fluence gave me a double chance of 

From the Towles came the great 
height and size which some of the 
Sanborns and some of the Leavitts 
have since shown. A son of Anna 

Hon. Moses Norns, Jr. 

(Towle) Sanborn, my great-uncle 
John, was about the stature of 
Abraham Lincoln, and of enormous 
strength. From Esther's daughter, 
Comfort Eeavitt, who married Moses 
Norris of Pittsfield, my mother's 
cousin, Norris the Congressman and 
Senator, derived his height and physi- 
cal strength. My own stature, and 
such strength as I have had, evi- 
dently came from the same source, 
for neither the Sanborns nor the 
Eeavitts, in their own lines, were 
above the common size. 

Moreover, this slight Irish admix- 
ture seems to have introduced a gay 
and active turn of mind, often verg- 
ing on eccentricity, which was hardly 
natural eithei" to the Sanborn or the 
Leavitt stock. From old Parson 
Bachiler the Sanborns might have 
derived, and doubtless did, vigor and 
independence, which were his traits; 
but liveliness, ambition, black hair 
and fair complexions, with an occa- 
sional turn for music, and escapades, 
came to the Eeavitts from old Philip 

When an old lady, recently, look- 
ing at me carefully, and hearing me 
talk with something of the Hibernian 
liveliness, said to me: "You were 
ijiietided ior a. rogue," I said to my- 
self, as Emerson did on a different 
occasion, " This is a saying in which 
I find a household relationship." 
Therefore, when Colonel Higginson, 
Mrs. Dall, and others fancy they see 
in me some outward signs of descent 
from Daniel Webster's " black Bach- 
iler " ancestor, the old parson, I 
cannot deny the fact; but know in 
my own mind that my complexion 
and physical traits come from the 
Leavitts. When Esther Eeavitt en- 
tered the Hampton Falls meeting- 
house with her sons Jonathan, Reu- 
ben, Brackett, and her daughter 
Lydia, for whom my mother was 
named, she could not help showing 
pride in her handsome children ; and 
her deep religious sentiment did not 
make her regard it as a sin. My 
mother, as I remember her, to the 
age of sixty had the traditional Irish 
beauty — ^jet-black hair of great length 
and thickness, clear blue eyes with 
long lashes, and a complexion of 
clear white and red, which descended 
to several of her children. Others of 



them followed the Sanborn type, with 
equally fair complexions, but with- 
out the sparkling eyes and thick 
dark hair. 

There was an earl}' admixture 
from another source in the Sanborn 
line, by the marriage of Mary Gove 
(daughter of Edward Gove, the pris- 
oner of London Tower) to Joseph 
Samborne, son of the first John, and 
the first of the name to reside where 
I was born. Although Edward 
Gove's descendants became peaceful 
Quakers in considerable number, his 
own temper was far from peaceful 
at times, and he had involved him- 
self in a dispute with his powerful 
neighbor, Nathaniel Weare, who was 
long active in the magistracy of New 
Hampshire. Notwithstanding this, 
Gove was often chosen to important 
local ofi&ce, was a captain in the mili- 
tia, and a man of property enough 
to make the confiscation of it a mat- 
ter of interest to Governor Cranfield, 
who in 1683 procured his arrest, trial 
and sentence to death for high trea- 
son. It was an absurd name for his 
offence, which was an armed demon- 
stration against James II and the 
Tories who then held sway in the 
new Province of the Weares, Cutts, 
Husseys and Sambornes. 

He was sent to England under the 
escort of Edward Randolph, the great 
enemy of Puritan rule in New Eng- 
land, and lodged in the Tower under 
strict guard, about the time that the 
leaders of his party in England, Lord 
Russell and Algernon Sidnej^, were 
imprisoned there, preliminary to their 
execution. But Gove was soon seen 
to be a harmless man, and nobody in 
England, even in that bloody time, 
urged his beheading. His neighbor, 
Weare, visiting England in the in- 

terest of the planters and merchants 
of the province, secured the resigna- 
tion of Cranfield through the influ- 
ence of Savile, Lord Halifax; and 
soon after, the pardon and return 
of Gove to that part of Hampton 
which is now Seabrook. He recov- 
ered his forfeited estate, some part of 
which seems to have come to his 
daughter by way of dowry. She 
was married at the age of sixteen to 
my ancestor, two short months only 
before her father's sentence to death, 
and in the foot companj^ of Hampton 
which arrested him, and put his 
mounted men in custody, her father- 
in-law, Lieut. John Samborne, was 
an oSicer. 

Thirty years before, when this 
Lieut. John and Edward Gove were 
young men, they had joined Sam- 
borne's uncle, Christopher Hussey of 
Hampton, in a petition to the Massa- 
chusetts General Court in favor of 
Robert Pike of vSalisbury (where 
Gove was then living), who had 
given offence by his free speech to 
the Puritan oligarchy. For this 
Hussey and Samborne were fined, 
but Gove seems to have escaped 
notice. He had been a member of 
the Provincial Assembly just before 
his arrest in 1683, and was a lead- 

ing man. 

After his return to Hampton he 
was chosen, along with Weare and 
others, to frame a temporary consti- 
tution for the Province, after the 
imprisonment of Sir Edmund Andros, 
and his name is signed, January 24, 
1690, to the only copy of this brief 
and sensible document known to 
exist. Little more than a j^ear later 
(May 29. 1 691) he died. Various 
legends and traditions survived him, 
and are still kept alive by credulity 



or ignorance, — that he was a hard 
drinker, was insane after leaving the 
Tower, and believed himself to have 
been slowly poisoned in his food 
there. His important offices before 
and after his imprisonment discredit 
these stories. He was probably a 
person of excitable and rather eccen- 
tric temper, and in other respects a 
good citizen, of more than ordinary 
intelligence. His son and his ser- 
vant, William Healey, joined in his 
demonstration, and were long in 
prison for it. 

His contemporary, lyieutenant Sam- 
borne, had been briefly imprisoned 
by Cranfield in 1684, for refusing to 
pay quitrents on his land in Hamp- 
ton, which Robert Mason claimed to 
own. He escaped from the Hampton 
jail, probably by the connivance of 
the jailer. 

I thought of these imprisoned an- 
cestors when the United States Sen- 
ate had me illegally arrested in i860, 
but I was discharged by the Massa- 
chusetts court the next day, without 
going to prision. I have since visited 
many prisons as their official inspector. 

By my maternal grandmother's 
line (Hannah Melcher, descended 
from Edward Melcher of Portsmouth) 
I am connected by descent with 
nearly all those early Hampton fami- 
lies from whom I am not descended 
through the Sanborns, Leavitts and 
Towles. But I still hold the chief 
part of my heredity as coming from 
the lycavitts and their Irish kin. 
My other ancestors were yeomen, 
deacons, petty officers in the towns, 
and industrious farmers tilling their 
own land; but the Leavitts, after the 
Irish infusion, began to get more 
education and push their fortunes 
farther. My grandfather, Thomas 

lycavitt, and his father, Benjamin, 
were land surveyors, as George 
Washington, St. John de Creve- 
coeur, John Brown and Henry Tho- 
reau were, — a pursuit that implied 
education, accuracy, and some knowl- 
edge of the world. 'Squire Tom's 
oldest brother, Jonathan Leavitt, was 
an officer in the Revolution, after- 
wards a merchant, and one of the 
first citizens of Passamaquoddy, now 
Eastport, Me. There he came into 
acquaintance with the Eesdernier, or 
Delesdernier, family, of Swiss origin, 
and still keeping up the French lan- 
guage, which was that of their na- 
tive Geneva. 

When the celebrated Albert Galla- 
tin, adventuring to America in 1780, 
reached Boston from Gloucester, 
where he landed, he was taken in 
charge by the Lesderniers, went with 
some of them to Machias, and spent 
a year on the Maine coast, trading 
with Indians, paddling in canoes, 
and learning English from the Les- 
derniers and their friends. Then he 
got an appointment in Harv^ard Col- 
lege to teach French, and soon found 
his way to Virginia and Pennsylva- 
nia, where be became a Democratic 

The Leavitts were also Democrats, 
as most of the Revolutionar}' soldiers 
in New Hampshire were, and my 
grandfather, appointed a justice of 
the peace by John Langdon, soon 
became a local leader of the party in 
his region. As a young man he was 
active and ga3^ and his sons, Ben- 
son, Joseph and Anthon}' Brackett 
(named by his Grandmother Esther 
for her ancestor, the slain Indian 
fighter) had the same activity, and 
soon left the little town to seek for- 
tune elsewhere. 



Joseph was to be the heir of his 
childless uncle, Brackett Leavitt, in 
Pittsfield, where his cousin Norris, 
afterwards senator, was growing up 
and getting an education. But the 
uncle was cut oflf by sudden death, 
and the boy returned home till he 
was old enough to be taken in charge 
by another uncle, his mother's broth- 
er, in Boston. Benson also went to 
Boston ; in time the two brothers 
became merchants in a prosperous 
way at the North End, and in 1843, 
when I first visited my cousins, their 
children, they were living in the two 
tenements of a double house in Fleet 
Street, not far from Father Taylor's 
Seamen's Chapel. A few years after 
Dr. Edward Beecher was living in 
Charter Street, opposite my Uncle 
Benson's house at that time, and 
I called on Mrs. Stowe there, fresh 
from her success in "Uncle Tom's 

A certain sad romance, which 
could not extinguish my Uncle 
Brackett's natural gaiety of heart, 
followed his efforts to establish him- 
self in the world. He married early 
and migrated to Ann Arbor in Michi- 
gan ; was attacked there by the fever 
of the region, nearly died, and re- 
turned wdth his wife and son to his 
father's house to recover health. 
There I remember him with his 
violin, playing and singing— the 
family all having that gift — and 
amusing a child like me. Then he 
disappeared, going this time to 
Orange, near Hanover, N. H., w^here 
he bought a farm and carried it on 
wdthout much success. Presently he 
tried a new move, and w^ent to Illi- 
nois, some ten years after Ellerj^ 
Channing had done the same thing 
in a more northern county. The 

California gold fever in i848-'49 
attacked my uncle, too ; he left his 
wife and young family near Peoria, 
111., and cros.sed the Plains to Cali- 
fornia, where he was prospering, as 
he wrote ; but presently tidings of 
him ceased. Long afterwards it was 
learned that he had been murdered, 
and his property taken. Not even 
the place of his death is certainly 
known to his children, one of whom, 
Thomas Eeavitt, has been a state 
official of Illinois, after an honorable 
career in the Civil War. 

Another Thomas Eeavitt, son of 
my Uncle Joseph, and named, like 
Brackett's son, for his grandfather, 
was killed in an Indian fight in what 
is now Dakota, as a lieutenant of 
an Iowa regiment, enlisted for the 
Civil War, but turned aside to fight 
the Sioux in the Northwest. 

His father, whom I was said much 
to resemble in stature and features, 
had died of consumption after a long 
illness, when I was about sixteen. 
This uncle had the same cheerful 
turn of mind, and endured his mal- 
ady with great patience. 

My grandfather, the old 'Squire, 
born in 1774, was by 1844 verging 
on seventy ; the loss of his sons, the 
illness of his wife, and the compara- 
tive neglect of his affairs by his ab- 
sorption in politics, where he did not 
find the official promotion he hoped 
for, had combined with increasing 
age to diminish his natural high 
spirits. He was somewhat given to 
bewailing the  degeneracy of the 
times ; his sons, who faithfully looked 
after his affairs, were Whigs, his 
grandsons, Charles and myself, were 
anti-slavery youths ; he remained a 
Jackson Democrat, as did my father. 
This caused the old gentleman some 



pangs, but his kindness of heart and 
his interest in the family continued. 
He visited his descendants in Boston, 
and carried his snuffbox into their 
parlors and those of their friends. 
On his last visit, about 1850, he sat 
for his daguerreotype, as he had sat 
more than forty years before, to his 
Carolina friend, James Akin, and this 
final portrait, as I chiefl}^ remember 
him, adorns this page. He died in 

T. Leavitt, /Et. 75. 

1852, when I was fitting for college 
at Exeter, and I was struck, in look- 
ing at his dead face in the coffin, to 
see so much of the 3'outhful expres- 
sion there (at 77) which Akin had 
caught in his slight sketch of 1808. 
The fair and smooth cheek, the clear- 
cut features, had taken on an earlier 
expression ; and much of this 3'outh- 
ful look was afterwards reproduced in 
the features and air of my son Victor, 
who has investigated the genealogy 
of his ancestors in Old England and 

So much for the chapter of hered- 
ity. I quite agree, however, with old 
Master John Sullivan, father of two 
state governors, John of New Hamp-' 
shire (the General), and James of 
Massachusetts, and grandson, as he 
said, of four Irish countesses, that 
men must be valued for what they are, 
not for what their forefathers may 
have been. Writing at the age of 93 
to his son, the General, the retired 
schoolmaster quoted a Latin pair of 
distichs, which in English run thus : 

Was Adam all men's sire, and Eve their mother ? 
Then how can one be nobler than another ? 
Ennobled are we not by sire or dame, 
Till life and conduct give us noble fame. 

Philosophers, who seek to know the 
causes of things, are apt to be inter- 
ested, however, in the manifold influ- 
ences that make men individuals, — 
no two alike, even in the same house- 
hold, — and it is in the ancestry that 
we must look for certain determining 
causes, before environment and edu- 
cation begin to do their modifying 
work on the newly-arrived inhabitant 
of earth. Of that environment it is 
now time to say something. As I re- 
marked in a chapter on " The New 
Hampshire Way of Eife," which mj' 
son, Mr. Victor Sanborn of Kemil- 
worth, 111., induced me to write for 
his copious " Sanborn Genealogy " : 

"For man}' j-ears the bulk of the 
New Hampshire people were farmers 
or farm laborers ; the mechanics, 
except in the largest towns, worked 
on their own land, or some neigh- 
bor's, a part of the year ; and the 
parish minister, the country doctor, 
and lawyer, and the village school- 
master all had farms, large or small. 
Originall3^ each parish had its par- 
sonage or manse, to which more or 
less land was attached ; this the par- 
son and his sons, with a hired man, 



cultivated, like his parishioners. 
The shoemaker who made my first 
pair of boots had a few acres, at- 
tached to the old house in which he 
lived and had his bench ; the black- 
smith at the corner of the road might 
also be a farmer ; and the carpenters 
and cabinet-makers, if they prospered 
at all, became landowners. At first 
there may have been less of this ' ter- 
ritorial democracy,' as Lord Beacons- 
field styled it, in New Hampshire 
than in Plymouth and some other 
colonies. A considerable tendency 
raahifested itself among the Cutts, 
Champernowns, Atkinsons, Wal- 
drons, Gilmans, Dudleys, Weares, 
etc. , to establish a distinct class of 
gentry, such as existed in England ; 
and the Wentworths and their con- 
nections maintained an offshoot of 
the Anglican church in Portsmouth, 
as did the roj^al governors and others 
in Boston. But the influences of a 
new country, combining with Calvin- 
ism, especially where the settlers 
were chiefly from the yeomanry and 
tradesmen of England and Northern 
Ireland, as in New Hampshire, soon 
brought about a virtual democracy. 
Education, however, was always 
highly valued there, and most of the 
towns in Rockingham county had a 
learned minister or two, preaching to 
the majority of the people, catechis- 
ing the children in church and school, 
and often promoting the higher edu- 
cation by opening libraries, giving 
instruction in Eatin, and encouraging 
the brighter boys to go to the acad- 
emy or to college. 

' ' In ni}^ own town much was done 
in this way by Dr. Eangdon, a re- 
tired president of Harvard College, 
and his successor in the ministry, 
Rev. Jacob Abbot, a first cousin of 
Dr. Abbot of Exeter Academy, — 
both good scholars of wide reading 
and public spirit, who from 1781 to 
1827 preached in the meeting house 
near by, and lived in the old parson- 
age, which was burnt in 1859. At 
the southern end of the town, after 
Parson Abbot's retirement, the Bap- 
tists set up their ' Rockingham Acad- 

emy,' a sectarian high school, but not 
specially sectarian ; so that for a town 
of 700 people and small wealth, 
Hampton Falls was well equipped 
with the means of education. 

" The old-fashioned district school 
was in full swing when I was a boy ; 
in it everything might be taught, 
from the alphabet upwards, to both 
sexes and many ages ; there might 
be pupils of 20 taught in winter by a 
youth of 15 ; often by a college stu- 
dent, released in the winter term to 
pay his college bills by the money 
earned as schoolmaster. Francis 
Bowen, the professor and author, 
while a student in Harvard, taught in 
our ' Red Schoolhouse,' and boarded 
with Deacon Eane, my grandfather's 
cousin, whose father had inherited 
Dr. Eangdon's globes and wig. The 
advantages of such a school were ob- 
vious ; for though the teacher might 
have 40 pupils in 30 classes, to be 
taught in 340 minutes, at the rate of 
13 minutes to each class, — yet the 
younger learned so much from hear- 
ing their elders recite, that perhaps 
as much knowledge, irregularly 
gained, got into the heads of bright 
scholars as is now insinuated more 
methodically by young women skilled 
in the newer modes of teaching. 
The terms were short, and arranged 
to meet the necessities of farm-labor, 
in which most children, even girls, 
took some part. They weeded gar- 
dens, picked apples and potatoes, 
husked corn, carried grain to mill, 
and with their mothers did much of 
the marketing, both buying and sell- 
ing. In berry time they gathered 
raspberries, huckleberries, blueber- 
ries, wild blackberries, cranberries 
and barberries ; and the women of 
poorer families carried these about to 
the farmhouses for sale, taking in 
payment provisions or clothing for 
their families, as did the Barrington 
basket-making gypsies, in their semi- 
annual rounds. One of the latter 
class, ' Hippin Pat Leathers ' (a 
w^oman) of Whittier's ' Yankee Zin- 
cali,' used to whine at my grand- 
father's door, ' Haint ye got nerry 



nold jacket, nerry nold gaownd, 
nerry nold pair traowses fur tu gimme 
fur this 'ere basket?' The huckle- 
berry women from Seabrook carried 
away from the same door salt pork in 
a pail, butter and cheese, and other 
means of stocking the Byfield larder. ' ' 

All this I have seen still surviving ; 
but the worst of the rum-drinking 
times had yielded, before my recollec- 
tion, to the efforts of the early tem- 
perance reformers. I have seen simi- 
lar cases, but it was in Essex county 
that Arthur Gilman, the architect 
(born in Newburyport), used to place 
the scene of his hero who went about 
sawing wood for the "forehanded 
folks," and took his pay in rum. 
One Saturday he had worked for the 
village 'squire, and was offered for 
the task a pint of the beverage. "Oh, 
now, 'Squire, can't ye make it a 
quart ? Haow kin a man keep Sun- 
day on a pinto' rum? " " Nonsense, 
Jem; you haven't earned more 'n a 
pint, — can't you keep the Sabbath on 
that much?" "Wa-al, 'Squire, ef 
you say so, I s'pose I must : but jest 
think on 't, — haow will it be kep' ? " 

The seafaring class, who were 
rather numerous in the old town of 
Hampton, and in Seabrook, Salisbury 
and Rye, were specially liable to the 
tippling habit ; and when they went 
long voyages were apt to come back 
with their morals injured. But they 
were notable seamen, and great fight- 
ers when any naval war gave them a 
chance. My mother's cousin, Lewis 
Leavitt, perhaps named for Lewis 
Delesdernier of Ouoddy, where he 
lived, was famous in the annals of the 
family for his skill in navigating from 
Eastport to Boston in the worst 
weather and the darkest night. 
Whether this anecdote of him is fact 

or fiction I cannot say with confi- 
dence ; but it was told and believed 
among his kindred. He was skip- 
per of a coaster, which in the War of 
1812 was captured by a British frig- 
ate. A prize crew was put on board, 
and she was headed for Halifax. 
Captain Leavitt watched his chance, 
and at night, when only the watch 
and the man at the wheel were on 
deck, he applied his great strength 
to them, threw them successively 
down the hatchway, fastened the 
hatches down, took the wheel him- 
self, and steered his schooner into a 
friendly port. He was Esther Towle's 

In simple communities such as I re- 
member, maiden aunts were a power 
and a blessing. One of them, in the 
neighborhood of Boston, once told 
Theodore Parker, "The position of 
a maiden aunt is not to be despised, 
Mr. Parker ; without maiden aunts 
the world could not be peopled, sir." 
In the nursing and pupilage of New 
Hampshire children the aunt bore a 
great part. I had three maiden 
aunts, — my mother's youngest sister, 
who stayed at home and kept her 
father's house, and after his death 
carried on the farm ; and two elder 
sisters of my father, who lived with 
him in the old house where they were 
born. Aunt Dolly, his half sister, 
had been brought up, as I have men- 
tioned, by her grandmother, Anne 
Towle Sanborn, who humored her, 
but kept her in a narrow domestic 
circle, from which courtship and 
marriage never emancipated her. 
She had the ways of the i8th cen- 
tury, just as she had its dishes and 
warming-pans, and ideas of costume. 
Never did she go farther from the 
houses of her relatives than to Ken- 



singtou, whence ber mother, whom 
she never knew, had come ; even 
Exeter, the " Suffield " of Miss 
Alice Brown, was almost unknown 
to her, though but five miles away. 
She was purely domestic ; had 
certain cooking " resaits " that had 
come down to her, and that nobody 
else could manage ; sat in her room 
or lay in her bed, and knew the 
ownership of every horse that passed 
the house, by his step. "I wonder 
where Major Godfrey was gwine this 
mornin' ? His horse went down the 
Hampton road about half-past four." 
She watched tlie passer-by with an 
interest hard for the young to under- 
stand ; the narrow limits of her exis- 
tence developed curiosity in a micro- 
scopic degree. The wayfarer, though 
a fool, as she was apt to think him, 
was not an indifferent object to her. 
She kept track, too, of the minutest 
family incidents ; would remind me 
the next morning, when I came in 
late at night from some visit, or a 
private cooking-party in the pine- 
woods, "The clock struck two jest 
after you shet the door, Frank." But 
i&ne had sympathy with youth, and 
withheld such revelations from the 
head of the family ; though you 
would not have said that discretion 
was her strong point. She outlived 
all her brothers and sisters but one, 
and was a neighborhood oracle as to 
births, deaths and marriages, without 
ever leaving the fireside in her latest 

Aunt Rachel was a very different 
person. Born five years later (1789) 
and dying some years earlier, she had 
a most sympathetic, pathetic and at- 
tractive character. Fair and delicate 
of complexion, blue-eyed, with pleas- 
ing features, a sweet, rather sad voice. 

she spent her later years (when alone 
I knew her), in caring for others. 
As a child she had been a favorite 
at Dr. Langdon's, who lived just 
across a little common and died when 
she was but eight years old ; but the 
family, including Miss Betsy I^ang- 
don, the granddaughter, remained in 
the parish longer. A little Italian 
engraving from the parsonage was 
alwa^'S hung in her ' 'parlor chamber. ' ' 
She continued intimate at the parson- 
age, in the time of the Abbots ; and 
and their children, of whom there 
were many, grew up under her eye, 
and were cared for by her in their 
earlier and after years. Aunt Rachel 
was skilled in all household arts, par- 
ticularly in spinning, weaving and 
gardening ; had her beds of sage and 
lavender, her flowers of the older 
kinds, introduced from Dr. Langdon's 
garden, I suppose ; and was the 
maker of simple remedies from herbs, 
delicious wines from currants, and 
metheglin from honey and other for- 
gotten ingredients. Mr. Treadwell's 
"Herb-Gatherer," that pleasing 
poem which he sent from Connecticut 
to Ellery Channing, and which Chan- 
ning revised until it seemed almost 
his own, and gave to me to print in 
the Springfield Republican, had 
touches that recalled my dear aunt to 
me, after many years. 

Aunt Rachel had her romance in 
youth ; a pretty creature, she had 
been wooed by one who, wandering 
about in the wider world little seen by 
her, found sojne richer or more bril- 
liant match, and broke off the engage- 
ment. This happened long before I 
was born, and I never saw him ; but 
I believe the fine musket in which I 
learned to insert the bullets I had run 
in the wooden mould, and sometimes 



hit the target with them, was his 
once, and had his initials in the silver 
mounting. He had wounded a tender 
heart with a more cruel weapon : and 
I fancied I read regrets for the dream 
of youth in the tears I sometimes saw 
falling, as my aunt spun in the long 
garret at the west window of which I 
sat and read my Waverley Novels. 
Her sister, nine years younger, had 
made an unluckj^ marriage, with 
many children and much hardship ; 
and Aunt Rachel w^as often called to 
go to Brentwood and look after the 
young family and the delicate mother, 
who seemed to have inherited con- 
sumption (according to theories then 
prevailing) from her mother, my 
grandmother Sanborn, who died eight 
years before I was born. She per- 
formed this duty cheerfully ; had 
taken care of her own mother in her 
last illness, then of her father and 
sister ; and of many invalids who died 
or recovered. These charities called 
her much from home, and I saw far 
less of her than of Aunt Dolly, her 
half-sister, who was as much a part of 
the old house as the oak arm-chair in 
the kitchen, or the chimney corner 
cat. But she impressed my imagina- 
tion more ; she was gentle by nature 
and by grace, and deserves not to be 
forgotten. Had I been blessed with 
a daughter, I would have named her 

I have mentioned her spinning. 
Of the hundred farmhouses in the 
town w^hen I was ten years old, more 
than fifty must have had looms, and 
all had the large spinning wheel for 
wool spinning. The garret of every 
one contained disused flax wheels, al- 
though a few farmers still grew flax, 
lovely with its blue flowers. But all 
kept sheep, and sheared them in 

June ; then had the wool made up in 
great bundles, wrapt in old linen 
sheets, spun and woven by an earlier 
generation, and pinned up with thorns 
from the bush of white thorn in the 
pasture, to be carried to the carding- 
mill. It was then brought home in 
"rolls," spun into yarn by the women 
of the house, and woven into cloth or 
knit into socks, buskins and mittens for 
the family. This homespun cloth was 
then sent to the " fulling-mill " to be 
dyed and fulled ; finally brought back 
to be cut by the neighborhood tailor 
and made up into suits for the family, 
by the " tailoress," who went about 
from house to house for the purpose. 
Of the children at the district school, 
not more than one in twenty wore any- 
thing in winter but this home-made 
cloth. In summer they wore the cheap 
cotton from the New England factories 
and calicoes of the "ninepenny" vari- 
ety. The boys mostly w'ent barefoot 
till twelve, and the girls sometimes. 

Gradually, after 1840, the town be- 
came dotted with shoe shops, where 
the young men and some of their 
elders made sale shoes for the manu- 
facturers of Lynn and Haverhill ; the 
women in the houses "binding" the 
uppers before the soles were stitched 
on in the shoe shops. My brother 
and I learned this art ; he to perfec- 
tion, I rather awkwardly ; and it was 
from the profits of my first box of 
shoes that I paid the cost of my foot 
journey to the White Mountains, in 
September, 1850. Soon after this I 
began to prepare for Harvard College, 
at the suggestion of dear friends, and 
had no difficulty in entering a 3'ear in 
advance, in July, 1852. Up to that 
time I had mostly lived at home in 
the surroundings described, taking 
part in the labors and the leisure por- 



Frank Sanborn (August, 1853), /Et. 21 

trayed in my first chapter. The ac- 
companying portrait, from a daguer- 
reotype taken in 1853, represents the 
student and lover that I was, during 
this period of my ' ' obscure and golden 
youth," as Thoreau says. Amid 
many anxieties and mortifications, I 

was happ3', b}' reason o the romantic 
love which my next chapter will 
relate. It was a part, and an idyllic 
part, of my New Hampshire life ; and 
with its close I became a citizen of 
Massachusetts and the world. 

[TV be cotitinued.^ 


By Eva J. Beede. 

Soft the song the leaves are singing. 

Tufted is the waving grass ; 
Butterflies, like air flowers, winging 

Where the earth flowers may not pass. 

Golden cups, the crowfoot swaying, 
Catch the sunshine and the dew ; 

Balmy zephyrs, gently playing, 
Coy and blushing roses woo. 

Cool the tents the elm trees, spreading 
Forth their grateful leaf shade, make 

Witching beams, the bright moon shedding, 
All the sleeping fairies wake. 


" ? 

! U 1f«' ! ^ ' H li I 

»w*..,-,, N'-'iiu i^hiHi^t 'K^f ,:,■■, vv '7;^!:"' 


4.- ii 

" '1 II,:. , , ,i 

'I » 

» •» « « tl«,.> I ., ,i ,1 

Autos at Bretton Woods. 

The cut will demonstrate the favor the White Mountain region has received 
at the hands of automobilists this season. The photograph was taken in front 
of the New Mount Washington Hotel at Bretton Woods and shows one of the 
good roads on this estate and a party enjoying a short run. The first car is 
a Winton, being driven by Harry Fosdick of Boston, Mass. In it are seated 
Governor and Mrs. Bachelder. 

An Automobile Law. 

It is generally agreed that the next 
Legislature will pass some sort of a law 
establishing the maximum speed of 
automobiles upon the highways of the 
state. Several bills of that nature 
were introduced at the last session, 
but all failed of passage. Since then, 
the automobile has been a more com- 
mon user of our highways. It can be 
safely said that the great majority of 
the drivers of such vehicles conduct 
them reasonably and wuth regard for 
the rights of others upon the avenues 
of travel. But there is now and then 
an auto-car driver who is reckless and 

inconsiderate, and because of him, 
definite and stringent regulations are 
necessar}^ for his restraint or for his 
punishment. In the framing of a law 
that shall fairly meet all of the vary- 
ing conditions, much consideration 
should be given. Some weeks ago 
this paper printed the views of some 
of the leading automobilists of Man- 
chester as to the provisions such a bill 
should contain, which attracted much 
attention and some comment. 

The real centre of motor cars in New 
Hampshire this season has been Bret- 
ton Woods. They have been there 
by scores and of all styles and descrip- 
tions. Discussions pertaining to all 



phases of the business have been gen- 
eral. Now at the close of the sea- 
son, John Anderson gives the follow- 
ing interesting summary of his views 
as to the provisions of such a law, in 
the editorial columns of The Bziglc, 
under the caption of "A Starter " : 

' ' Bretton Woods favors a state law 
to restrict speed of motor cars to 
eighteen miles in the lowlands and 
twelve miles in the mountains, and 
half speed in passing houses or within 
100 yards of the vanishing point of a 
road on curves or the point beyond 
which the road is is not in full view ; 
and the same provision where a short 
hill hides the road beyond. A full 
stop for frightened horses, and the as- 
sistance of the chauffeur or other mem- 
ber of the auto party to help lead the 
horse or team by, when such as- 
sistance may be needed or asked. 

' ' The horn to be sounded three 
times at each point where the road is 
not seen to be clear at least one hun- 
dred yards ahead. 

* 'Twenty'- dollars fine for first of- 
fense, one half to con.stable ; impris- 

onment for second offense (one half to 
constable if he wants it)." — Manches- 
ter Union, Sept. 28, 1904. 

* * 

Road Improvement Under 
State Sopervision. 


This is a road to a beautiful little 
lake, and a favorite resort for peo- 
ple of Littleton and vicinity. The 
road was built by the state of New 
Hampshire in 1901 ; it is one and one 
half miles long, and by the appropria- 
tions of the last Legislature, has in 
the past two seasons been made a 
model country road. Good ditches 
have been dug and the drainage 
perfected. Mud holes have been 
filled and the entire length rounded 
up and surfaced with good material, 
and this summer the road was hard 
and in perfect condition. The sur- 
face is as good, hard and smooth as 
that of any macadamized road in the 

On Forest Lake Road 




The cuts will give some idea of work done by the state of New Hampshire 
on its roads the past two seasons. 

The photographs were taken at a point about one mile from Bretton Woods, 
on the new state road between Fabyans and Twin Mountain, at what is 
known as the rock cut. 

The first picture shows the condition after the blasting, and before the re- 
moval of the rock. Steam-power drills were used, and the holes charged with 
hundreds of pounds of dynamite. 




The second picture shows the finished road, the rock having been removed 
and the roadway surfaced. 

The bridge shown in both pictures crosses the Animonoosuc River, and is 
built of steel, strong enough to sustain a train of railroad cars. The abut- 
ments are built of Portland cement concrete. This is probably the first con- 
crete masonry used in highway work in New Hampshire. This makes the 
whole a beautiful and thoroughly strong and permanent structure. 

From a point just beyond this bridge may be seen the Ammonoosuc Lower 
Falls and the great gorge in the solid rock, which is one of the many attrac- 
tions in this White Mountain region. 

SPORTSi^EN . . . 

I do everything in Taxidermy. Send me your 
trophies for mounting. Deer Heads a Specialty. 


The Reliable Taxidermist, 

Send for Price List. EAST JAFFREY, N. H. 


Railroad Square > CONCORD, N. H. 

Reproduced by Czleiitoii, A^as/iua, N. H . 


The Granite Monthly. 

Vol. XXXVH, 


Nos. 4-(). 

A Section of the Jefferson Notch Road. 
lmpro7'ed by State Highiuay Commission, rgo3-''04. This road was formerly a mass of mud, hiib»dee/>. 


By John W. Storrs, Civil Engineer. 

The report of the state highway 
commission, of which John Anderson 
of Bretton Woods, Charles F. East- 
man of Littleton and George E. Cum- 
mings of Woodsville were members, 
is so modest in tone that it gives but 
an indefinite idea of what has actually 
been accomplished in highway work 
and improvement under their direc- 

The people of New Hampshire are 
certainly entitled to know more fully 
the details of the work done and the 

satisfactory results of their under- 

The bill as passed by the last Legis- 
lature made an appropriation of $32,- 
000, to be expended by this commis- 
sion on the improvements of certain 
roads that then had been started, but 
not finished, and for the building of 
new roads. 

The bill authorized the commis- 
sioners to survey and locate a high- 
way, beginning at the base of IMount 
Washington, at a point in the Thomp- 



sou and Meserve purchase, at the 
easterly terminus of what is known 
as the Mount Washington Turnpike, 
thence over said turnpike as it now 
exists, to the point of its intersection 
with the Porthmd road, so called, 
near the Fabyau House, thence over 
said road to an iron pin driven in the 
ground. From here the bill provided 
for building a new road, about a mile 

being a distance of eight and a half 

It was provided, however, that this 
last part should be built, not for a 
carriage road, and specified that only 
$5,000 should be used in its construc- 
tion. The entire distance covered by 
the survey and location of this road 
is about twenty-two miles. That the 
commission faithfull.v performed this 

Profile Bridle Trail, Eight 
Built by State Hi^liway Coviiiiission, rgoj-''04 

in length, and then to cross the Am- 
monoosuc River, and use the old road 
for a distance of about a mile, then 
cross the river again, building a new 
road about two and a half miles in 
length, and coming again on to the old 
road near the Twin Mountain House, 
thence over an old road, a distance of 
about two miles, and then build a new 
road to the Chase farm, or Profile 
House golf links, this last stretch 

and One Half Miles Long. 

This was >iot httejidcd for a carriage road. 

part of their duty is shown by an ele- 
gant and accurate set of plans which 
they caused to be filed with the secre- 
tary of state. These plans are* on 
twelve different sheets of heavy 
mounted white paper and bound with 
cloth cover in such a way that they 
may be easily taken out and used 

The plans show the location of the 
old roads as thev now exist and the 



new roads as located and bnilt, with 
curves, distances, etc., and a record of 
the hmdowners and reference to deeds 
of the rights of way as conveyed to 
the state. These plans give definite 
information, so valuable to the engin- 
eer for reference and future opera- 
tions, and make a permanent record. 
The bill authorized improvements 

The road follows down the southerly 
slope, crossing various brooks, large 
and small, to what is known as Twin 
River farm. This division is about 
ten miles in length. 

The Southern division begins here 
and follows along (at about the same 
general elevation of 1,900 feet above 
the sea) the base of the Presidential 

Another View on Profile Bridle Trail. 

on the Jefferson Notch road. This 
I'oad may properly be divided into 
two parts, and locally is called the 
Northern and Southern division. The 
former begins at the E. A. Crawford 
house at- Jefferson Highlands, and 
winds down the hill into the valley of 
the Israels River, and then follows up 
the south branch to the summit of 
Jefferson Notch, where it reaches an 
elevation of 3,000 feet above the sea. 

Range from Mount Washington to 
the Crawford House, at the famous 
Crawford Notch. This division cov- 
ers a distance of about four miles. 
This road was originally put through 
(and was passable, but never fin- 
ished), and was a difficult undertak- 
ing. It was through a rough, rugged 
country and away from habitation. 
Rocks, trees and stumps were abund- 
ant, but dirt or anything suitable for 



Section of Road between Fabyans and Twin Mountain House, Showing Side-Hill Cut. 

road building was scarce and hard to 

This commission found a bit? 
amount of work to be done here, and 
the question was how to begin and 
what to do that could be done. 

The Southern division seemed to 
demand attention first, as it was 
needed most. Here was a continua- 
tion of mud and mud-holes. One of 
these was about one quarter of a mile 
long, while another was over half a 
mile in length — real mud, too. Where 
in ordinary dry times a wagon wheel 
would go down clear to the hub, at 
some previous time brush, tree tops 

and shavings had been used to fill or 
cover this mud up, but without good 
results. In fact, the conditions were 
probably worse. 

The commissioners decided that the 
only way to do was to shovel out the 
Avhole mess, — ^brush, shavings, mud 
and all. This was done, good ditches 
were dug, good under drainage pro- 
vided, the roadway was filled with 
brolcen rocks and stones, and finally 
surfaced with good road material. 
This latter had to be drawn in some 
eases over a mile. 

The whole of this division was care- 
fully gone over, and this past season 



has been in good condition. The 
parts of the road that were the worst 
are now the best. 

On the Northern division long 
stretches were rounded up and sur- 
faced, obstructions removed from 
ditches and water-ways. This latter 
required lots of blasting, and hun- 
dreds of pounds of dj^namite were 

Good material, or in fact any kind 
of dirt, was not handy and it was 
necessary to go long distances for 
proper surfacing material. To add 
to the troubles of the commission, the 
cloudburst of June, 1903, destroyed 
completely parts of this road. 

No one who was not familiar with 
the conditions as this commission 
found them can realize or appreciate 

the amount of woi'lc done here and 
the good results accomplished. What 
has been done may be considered as 
permanent, but, like all roads, must 
be taken care of to be maintained in 
its present condition. The appropri- 
ation that they recommend is princi- 
pally for completing and finishing 
those parts of the road that were 
destroyed by the cloudburst, and for 
building two bridges. 

The new road, not a carriage road, 
built from near the Twin Mountain 
House to the Chase farm or Profile 
House golf links, is in the mountains 
called the Profile bridle trail, and at 
the golf links connects wdth a road to 
Franconia, Sugar Hill and Littleton, 
and with another road to the Profile 
House, a distance of three miles. 

Road between Fabyans and Twin Mountain House. 
Built by the State Hi'gh^uay Coiinntssiou, rgoj-'o^. 



The Profile bridle trail is eight and 
a half miles long and opens up a 
beautiful, heavily wooded country, 
and when improved for carriages will 
be one of the most delightful drives 
in the mountains, and the connecting 
link between the base of Mount 
Washington and Bretton Woods, and 
the Profile House in the famous Fran- 
conia Notch with its lakes, the Old 
]Man of the ]\Iountain and other scenic 

The commission laid out this road 
with regard to its probable future im- 
provement for carriages, and care- 
fully located it with reference to 
avoiding steep grades, railroads, etc. 

If the road is ever completed along 
the lines proposed, there will be no 
place that a team of horses cannot 
trot at a good pace. There will be 
two bridges, one across Gale River, 
and the other, an overhead bridge, 
over the tracks of a branch of the 
Boston & Llaine Railroad. The com- 
mission obtained the right of wav 
four rods Avide, and took deeds from 
the landowners which are on file with 
the state treasurer. They cleared the 
timber, stumps, rocks and boulders 
for a width of twenty feet, and used 
quantities of dynamite in these oper- 

They made a good road for horse- 
back riding, and a road that it has 
been possible to get over with teams. 
Governor Bachelder and his council 
drove over this road on their inspec- 
tion with a four-horse mountain 
wagon. This party were well pleased 
and satisfied with the character and 
amount of work done. 

The pride of the mountains is the 
road built by this commission between 

Fabyans and Twin Mountain. The 
length of this new road is about three 
and a half miles. The bill author- 
ized its location between definite 
points marked by iron pins. 

The road crosses the Ammonoosuc 
River four times, and there are two 
bridges over the Zealand River. The 
bridges are pile trestles, with one ex- 
ception, and this, at the lower falls 
of the Ammonoosuc, is a beautiful 
and substantial steel bridge with 
massive concrete masonry abutments. 
The maximum grade on this road is 
ten per cent. 

The work was in places heavy, in 
one place a deep ledge cut, where 
hundreds of pounds of dynamite had 
to be used in blasting out the rock; 
in other places deep cuts and heavy 
side hill work. The trestle bridges 
are built with oak piles and Georgia 
hard pine stringers covered with 
hemlock plank. They are eighteen 
feet wide. 

The roadway is sixteen feet wide, 
besides the ditches, and was surfaced 
with material at hand. This road 
was built in part to avoid four rail- 
road crossings, and in all places keeps 
well away from the railroad. This 
adds very materially to its attractive- 
ness as a pleasure drive to visitors at 
the mountain hotels. 

The scenery from this road includes 
a grand view of the Presidential 
Range, a view up the Zealand River 
Valley from Glacial Ridge, the lower 
falls of the Ammonoosuc, and the 
many beautiful little glimpses of the 
river which it follows, in part, as it 
winds around at the base of foothills 
of the Sugar Loaf Mountain. 


H)! Willi'ini <). ('/()n;//i 

A few months ago one of the pop- 
ular magazines* of the day pub- 
lished the accompanying portrait of 
Abraham Lincoln, and with it a brief 
statement, and nothing more of im- 
portance, that a New York gentleman 
is the owner of the only artist 's proof 
known to be in existence. There is, 
however, another copy, and it is the 
property of the writer. 

This portrait of the martyred pres- 
ident was made at Springfield, 111., in 
1860, following his nomination to the 
presidency, by C. A. Barry, a noted 
Massachusetts artist of that day. It 
is, as artists of today must admit, a 
striking likeness in bold treatment, 
and so unlike any of the many por- 
traits of the great emancipator that 
have been given to the public in late 
years as to attract attention and ad- 

The student of art will be impressed 
with the gracefulness of the pose, 
the unaffected expression in which 
character is brought out, and also by 
the breeziness of the IMiddle West, 
which gives tone to it. Rigiclness, 
which minimizes the effect of many of 
the portraits of Mr. Lincoln, is made 
flexible, and to emphasize the intel- 
lectual mind and sterling qualities of 
head and heart that made him a man 
of the people, the unerring judge win:) 
estimated his fellow men at their pre- 
cise value to a cause, the astute poli- 

tician, the statesman with acumen to 
grasp the intricate problems of gov- 
ernment, and mould seemingly widely 
divergent forces into their proper re- 
lation to the destiny of our country. 
It is also Lincoln in whom is discover- 
able the genial and kindly bearing of 
the child of the prairie, the individ- 
uality that caused him to be loved and 
trusted by men and women of his gen- 
eration, and whose memory will be 
cherished so long as history is written 
and read. 

This crayon portrait of Mr. Lincoln 
was a gift to the writer some twenty 
years ago by a physician", who, by 
reason of age and infirmities, was dis- 
mantling his office. He saw that I 
admired it, whereupon he related to 
me the circumstances under which he 
obtained it, and also gave me the art- 
ist's story that accompanied it. Later, 
much to my gratification and sur- 
prise, he sent it to my residence with 
his compliments. 

"It was presented to me," he said, 
"by a patient of mine*, a relative 
of Artist Barry. There is not the 
shadow of a doubt of its genuineness. 
I was her family physician for many 
years, and it was made mine in rec- 
ognition of my attention to her in a 

*The National Magazine. 

t The late Dr. T. H. Gibby, Nashua. 

t Mrs. Eben Mclntire, Nashua. It is a singular 
circum.stance that the last member of the family 
—a former Nashua shoe-dealer, noted vocalist 
and Knijjht Templar Mason— died at his home in 
Philadelphia since this article was prepared. It 
i.s also a circumstance that Dr. Qibby's only 
daughter, only child as well, is a resident of 



protracted illness. There are proba- 
bly other copies in existence, but of 
that I have no information. ' ' 

Artist Barry's account of his visit 
to Springfield, and the circumstances 
and conditions under which he ob- 
tained the sittings and made the por- 
trait was as follows : 

"It was late in the afternoon of the 
last Saturday in June, 1860, when I 
found myself in front of a small, two- 
storied house, almost entirely sur- 
rounded by a plain white paling, in 
the City of Springfield, 111. I had 
journeyed from Boston at the request 
of certain prominent Republicans of 
Massachusetts, bearing a letter of in- 
troduction from Governor N. P. 
Banks to solicit sittings from Abra- 
ham Lincoln. 

"My intention was to make a 
crayon drawing (portrait) from life 
that could be used on my return to 
Boston as a study for reproduction on 
stone by an eminent lithographer. It 
was quite late in the afternoon, as I 
have said, when I arrived in Spring- 
field, so I went at once to the front 
door of the now well known house and 
rang the bell, little suspecting the 
amusing bit of experience that came 
next. Suddenly the door was thrown 
violently against the wall, revealing 
to my notice a very small boy strad- 
dling across the passagewa5^ 

" 'Hallo, mister!' screamed the 
small boy, ' what der want ? ' 

" 'I want,' I replied, 'to see Mr. 
Lincoln. I have come all the way 
from Boston to talk with him.' In 
an instant, before my lips closed, in 
fact, the small boy shouted out: 

" 'Come down, "Pop,"; here's a 
man from Boston to see you,' and 
thus saying, he wheeled himself upon 

one foot and vanished through the 
end of the hall somewhere, leaving 
me as he found me, standing in 
the doorway. But I had not long 
to wait, for the good, the immortal 
Lincoln immediately came down- 
stairs, holding out a great hand 
of welcome towards me. 'They want 
my head, do they? Well, if you can 
get it you may have it ; that is, if you 
are able to take it off while I am on 
the jump. But no quills in my nose ; 
I have had enough of that ; and don 't 
fasten me into a chair ! ' 

' ' I learned afterwards from his own 
lips that he had never sat for a por- 
trait, except photographic ones, bnt 
that Sculptor Folk of Chicago had 
'plastered' him, so he termed it, some- 
time in 1858, for a bust. The ar- 
rangement, as made between Mr. Lin- 
coln and myself, was that we were to 
meet at his room in the court house 
on the following Monday morning at 
seven o'clock, and this is the way 
the said arrangement came about. 
Twisting Governor Banks' letter in 
his large furrowed hands, he said: 

" ' I suppose you Boston folks don 't 
get up at cock-crowing as we do out 
here. I'm an early riser, and my ris- 
ing don't mean nine o'clock in the 
morning, by any means. Now, I "11' 
tell you what we'll do. You come to 
my room at the court house on ]\Ion- 
day at seven sharp, and I will be there 
to let you in.' 

"The good man evidently thought 
he had me on the hip, so to speak, as 
he said this, for he shook his side most 
heartily with suppressed laughter 
when he was bidding me good night. 

"But Monday morning came, and 
seven o'clock came, and at precisely 
that hour I turned the corner of the 



street upon which the court house 
faced to see, coming towards me from 
the other end of the sidewalk, my, 
queer sitter. 

" 'Well done, my boy,' he said, as 
we shook hands, 'y.ou are an early 
bird, after all, if you do hail from 
Boston. ' 

' ' I told him I was rarely in bed af- 
ter daybreak and nuich of my best 
work was done before breakfast. And 
so. pleasantly chatting, we went up 
to his room together. 

" 'Now, then, what shall I do?' he 
inquired, pointing to a large pile of 
unopened letters upon a table. 

" 'Absolutely nothing,' I replied, 
'but to allow me to Avalk around you 
occasionally and once in a while meas- 
ure a distance upon your face. I 
will not disturb you in the least other- 

" 'Capital,' said my distinguished 
sitter, smiling pleasantly, 'I won't be 
in the least bit scared; go right 
ahead. ' 

"Then he threw off his coat and, 
sitting in front of the table in his 
shirt sleeves, plunged his hand into 
the great heap of letters before him, 
leaving me to begin my task. How 
vividly it all comes back to me as I 
write. The lonely room, the great 
bony figure with its long arms, and 
legs that seemed to be continually 
twisting themselves together; the 
long, wiry neck, the narrow chest, the 
uncombed hair, the cavernous sockets 
beneath the high forehead, the bushy 
eyebrows hanging like curtains over 
the bright, dreamy eyes, the awkward 
speech, the pronounced truthfulness 
and patience ; and lastly, the sure feel- 
ing in his heart that coming events, 
whatever they might be, would come 

to him and to the American people 
straight from the hand of God. A 
marked look of depression upon his 
face at times gave me no end of trou- 
ble. There was a far-away look about 
the eyes very often, as if the great 
spirit behind them was conscious of 
terrible trials to come, as if there was 
a mighty struggle going on in the 
bosom of the living man that living 
men must not know of until the time 
was ripe for them to know; such a 
struggle as Jesus knew in his agony 
after the arrest; as Savonarola knew 
when he was fighting single-handed 
the church of Rome; as Luther knew 
when he stood before his judge at the 
Diet of Worms; as Cromwell knew 
at the head of his thousands of men; 
as Theodore Parker knew when the 
whole Christian world, with one or 
two exceptions, held him in utter ab- 

' ' I worked faithfully upon the por- 
trait, studying every feature most 
carefully for ten days, and was more 
than fully rewarded for my labor 
when Mr. Lincoln, pointing to the 
picture, said : ' Even my enemies must 
declare that to be a true likeness of 
"old Abe".' " 

The portrait was exhibited in Chi- 
cago at the Tremont House, in New 
York at the room of George Ward 
Nichols, and Boston at the rooms of 
the old Mercantile Library Associa- 
tion on Summer Street. It was litho- 
graphed most excellently for those 
days and could have been seen in 
many places in. Boston and elsewhere 
on the w^eek following the assassina- 
tion. A month later not a copy was 
to be obtained for love nor money, 
and therefore it is more than prob- 
able that there are more copies in ex- 



istence than is believed by "the New 
York gentleman." 

Artist Bany related this as a part 
of his experience in connection with 
the portrait : ' ' When it was on exhibi  
tion in Mr. Nichols' room in New 
York and standing on an easel in the 
middle of the room facing Broadway, 
a short, thick-set gentleman walked in. 
He did not speak to me; I did not 
speak to him. He stood a short dis- 
tance from the picture for a little 

while, then — I had turned my head to 
look at him — stepped forward and, 
folding his arms across his breast, said 
slowly with clear utterance : ' An hon- 
est man, God knows.' The next in- 
stant he passed out of the room. It 
was Stephen A. Douglass." The last 
that was known of the original por- 
trait — made in 1860, and the first 
made of Mr. Lincoln from life — it 
was owned by Mrs. E. A. Hilton, 
Commonwealth Avenue, Boston. 



By Atnos J. Blake, Esq. 

Amos Andrew Parker was born in 
Fitzwilliam, October 8, 1791. At the 
time of his death he was the oldest living 
graduate of any American college and 
member of the bar in New England. He 
died at the home of his youngest son, 
Hon. lohn M. Parker, in Fitzwilliam, 
Ma}' 12, 1893, aged loi years, 7 months 
and 4 days. 

He was the fourth of the nine child- 
ren of Hon. Nahum Parker, a United 
States senator, and for twenty years a 
judge of the Court of Common Pleas of 
this state. A brief sketch of his distin- 
guished father and of his public services 
rendered to the state and nation will not 
be out of place at this time. 

Hon. Nahum Parker was born in 
Shrewsbury, Mass., March 4, 1760. His 
father was Amos Parker of Lexington, 
Mass., a brother of Jonas Parker, who 
was one of the eight men killed in Cap- 
tain Parker's company of Minute Men 
on Lexington Common on the memora- 
ble nineteenth of April, 1775. The 

name of Jonas Parker is on the Lexing- 
ton monument. 

Amos Parker was born July 26, 1723, 
and died at Shrewsbury, December 23, 
1790. His wife was Anna Stone, born 
October 21, 1726, and died November 
1 3) 1799- They had nine children ; the 
two oldest were born in Lexington, the 
others in Shrewsbury. 

Nahum was their seventh child and 
at the early age of sixteen he entered the 
Revolutionary Army from Shrewsbury. 
How long he remained in the army we 
have no means at hand to determine. 
He kept a diary at the time and if that 
could be consulted, the question might 
possiby be settled. 

In the year 1817, when pensions 
were granted to all Revolutionary sol- 
diers, he applied for a pension, and as 
evidence of services performed he sent 
to the secretary of war, John C. Calhoun, 
his diary, accompanied by an affidavit 
stating that he was the identical man 
who performed the services mentioned 




therein, and at once received his pension 
certificate; the secretary remarking that 
the evidence was conclusive, for no man 
could make such a diary without having 
performed the services. He was pres- 
ent at the surrender of Burgoyne at Sara- 
toga in 1777. 

After the war he married Mary Deeth 
of Gerry (now Phillipston), Mass., Au- 
gust II, 1783. After living a short time 
in Gerry, he moved to Shrewsbury in 
1784, and in March, 1786, he came to 
Fitzwilliam and settled on a farm, now 
owned by Harvey A. Clark, on the east 
side of the town. He resided thereuntil 
the day of his death. 

The "History of Fitzwilliam" truth- 
fully says of him : "The ability and 
fidelity of Mr. Parker were at once recog- 
nized by the people of Fitzwilliam, and 
he was soon called to fill offices of trust. 
October 17, 1792, the proprietors of this 
township elected him as their clerk and 
treasurer, and he held these offices till 
the closing up of the business of the 
proprietors in 1815. Though not edu- 
cated as a lawyer, he was well acquainted 
with the forms and merits of civil pro- 
ceedings, and brought to all his public 
duties a well-trained mind ; a habit of 
exactness in all the calls issued by him 
for legal meetings, and in the record of 
the same, and the utmost fidelity in 
accounting for the funds in his posses- 
sion. To all these qualifications for a 
public servant he added an almost fault- 
less penmanship, so that from the date 
of his election as clerk of the proprie- 
tors, their record books become easy of 

"In 1790 Mr. Parker's name first 
appears upon the records of Fitzwilliam 
as one of the selectmen, and he held this 
office for four successive years. Begin- 
ning with 1792 he was often moderator 
of the town meetings. In 1794 he was 

chosen to represent this town in the state 
legislature, and was re-elected annually 
till 1804, or for the period of ten years. 
In 1806 he was again chosen representa- 

He had eleven commissions as justice 
of the peace and quorum throughout the 
state. His first commission is dated 
January 9, 1794, and signed by Josiah 
Bartlett, governor, and the last is dated 
December 20, 1836, and signed by 
Isaac Hill, governor. 

Of the eleven commissions three were 
signed by John Langdon, three by John 
Taylor Oilman and one each by Josiah 
Bartlett, Samuel Bell, Davil L. Morrill, 
Matthew Harvey and Isaac Hill. He 
had three commissions as judge of the 
Court of Common Pleas. The first is a 
commission as "Chief Justice of the 
Court of Common Pleas for the County 
of Cheshire," dated February 3, 1807, 
and signed by John Langdon. 

The second is a commission as "An 
Associate Justice of our Circuit Court 
of Common Pleas for the Western Cir- 
cuit," dated July 13, 1813, and signed 
by John T. Oilman. 

The third is a commission as "An 
Associate Justice of the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas for the County of Cheshire," 
signed by William Plummer, governor, 
and dated July 5, 18 16. During all the 
years in which Judge Parker held the 
office, and discharged the duties of judge, 
Cheshire county included within its lim- 
its the present county of Sullivan. 
Cheshire county, incorporated March 
19, 1 77 1, was one of the five original 
counties into which the province was 
then divided, Keene and Charlestown 
being the shire towns. 

July 5, 1827, the county of Cheshire 
was divided ; its northern portion being 
taken to form the county of Sullivan, 
which was named in honor of Hon. Tohn 


iJorn March 4, 1760. 

Sullivan of Durham. In 18 13 the NAIIUM PARKER. 

"Western Circuit," as it was called, 

included the then counties of Cheshire, 

(irafton and Coos; the largest in the M>pointed Chief Justice of the Court of Com- 

. T 1 T, 1 , 1 • >^- "1"" Pleas in 1807. 

state, and Judge Parker "rode his Cir- y,^^-^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ j^^^ ^^^^, Hampsiiire 

cuit" (as it was then termed) on horse- from 1806 to rSio. 

back with his saddle bags, in one of ,^. , ^. 

° ^ Died November 12, 1839. 

which he carried the famous "Green 

Bag," containing his court papers. The subject of this sketch, Amos 

reports, statutes and other law books Andrew Parker, attended the district 

for reference, and in the other his change school in Fitzwilliam during the short 

of wardrobe and other articles, being terms kept in his district, and when the 

absent from home frequently during the school was not in session, worked upon 

terms of court in his district, from five his father's farm until 15 years of age, 

to ten weeks at a time. In 1805 and when he formed the purpose of obtain- 

1806 he was elected and served as coun- ing a collegiate eduction. He took a 

cilor from the "Old Fifth Councilor preparatory course of one year under 

District." In i828-'29 he was senator the instruction of his pastor, the Rev. 

to the General Court from District No. John Sabin, and a three years' course at 

g, and was one of the leading members New Ipswich Academy, under the tuition 

of that body. June 13, 1806, he was of Oliver Swain Taylor, who at that time 

elected a senator from New Hampshire was principal of the institution, 

in the United States Congress for the In June, 18 10, he entered the Univer- 

full term of six years, but finding his sity of Vermont in the Sophomore year, 

duties as judge and senator too onerous, and graduated in 18 13 at the age of 

and moreover, sometimes conflicting in 22 years, ranking second in his class, 

point of time, he resigned his ofiice as He was appointed to deliver an English 

senator after a service of three years, oration, with the place of honor in the 

and continued to hold the office of joint exhibition of the Junior and Senior 

judge. classes; the Greek oration at the Junior 

In all the civil, social and religious exhibition and the salutatory address in 

affairs of the town. Judge Parker was Latin at Commencement, 

prominent for a long series of years. Soon after graduation he went to 

His honesty, ability and fidelity being Fredericksburg, Va., and was engaged 

universally acknowledged by his towns- as a teacher in the family of a wealthy 

men, and in fact throughout the state, planter, where he remained three years. 

Of his kindness to the poor and afflicted He then returned to New Hampshire 

many instances are related by aged citi- and commenced the study of law in the 

zens, and his influence was invariably office of James Wilson, Sr., of Keene, 

in favor of the culture and good morals completing his course with Hon. Levi 

of the people. Chamberlain, who was at that time in the 

He died at his homestead November practice of law at Fitzwilliam. He was 

12, 1839, aged 80 years; and a substan- admitted to the bar in 182 1, and coni- 

tial granite monument marks his resting menced the practice of his profession in 

place in our public cemetery, with the Epping immediately after, where he 

following inscription thereon : remained until 1823, when he moved 



to Concord to accept the editor- 
ship of the New Hampshire Statesman. 

In 1824 and 1825 he was commis- 
sioned and served as aid on the stafif of 
Governor Morrill, from which office he 
received his title of colonel. While re- 
siding at Concord, he was delegated as 
one of the governor's aids to proceed to 
Boston and invite General Lafayette to 
visit New Hampshire. This was in 
June, 1824. The General kindly ac- 
cepted the invitation, but desired that 
his visit to New Hampshire be deferred 
until the following year, and accordingly 
in June, 1825, Colonel Parker made the 
same journey to Boston with proper 
equipage to convey the distinguished 
French soldier and statesman to Con- 

The equipage consisted of a ba- 
rouche with four horses, an elegant 
stage-coach with four horses, and a two- 
horse carriage for the baggage. The 
General was accompanied by his son, 
George Washington Lafayette, and his 
private secretary and a body-servant. 
General Lafayette was then 67 years of 
age, well preserved, and in good health. 

After Colonel Parker's retirement from 
active professional life, he published a 
work of 150 pages entitled "Recollec- 
tions of Lafayette and his Visit to 
America." After leaving Concord he 
practised his profession at Exeter and 
at Kingston, and returned from the 
latter place to his native town in 1837, 
and continued the practice of the law. 

While residing at Exeter Colonel Par- 
ker made a long excursion to the West, 
and on his return, published a valuable 
book (which was one of the first of its 
kind), entitled "A Trip to the West and 
Texas." It was published in three edi- 
tions of 5,000 copies each, and had a 
rapid sale. He also published a book 
of poems in his eightieth year, and 

wrote many stories, articles for maga- 
zines, and newspaper contributions. In 
his native town after 1837. he held nearly 
every office in the gift of the people, and 
took a very active part in the measures 
adopted to suppress the Rebellion, fur- 
nishing three sons for the Union Army, 
one of whom died in the service. He 
had received and held 15 commis- 
sions as a justice of the peace and quo- 
rum of five years each, covering a space 
of 75 years, his first commission bearing 
date June 22, 1^22. 

For several years he was a trustee of 
the New Hampshire Asylum for the 
Insane, a director of the Ashuelot Fire 
Insurance Company, a director of the 
Cheshire County Bank (now Keene Na- 
tional Bank), was a member of the Bar 
Association of New York City, and of 
the New Hampshire Historical Society. 
He served as representative from Fitz- 
william during thirteen sessions of the 
the Legislature ; his first election to that 
office was at the March election in 1839. 
He occupied the position of first select- 
man in Fitzwilliam for ten years, and for 
many years was moderator of town meet- 
ings, town agent and town treasurer ; 
during the Civil War he was chairman of 
a committee of three for funding the 
war debt of the town, which was very 
efficiently and promptly accomplished. 
For 72 years he was a member of the 
bar, and engaged in the practice of the 
law the greater portion of that time. 

In i844-'45 he was actively engaged 
in forwarding the projected railroad be- 
tween Boston and Burlington by way of 
Rutland. After aiding in obtaining 
charters for the " Fitchburg " and 
" Cheshire " railroads, he brought the 
matter before the people of Vermont, 
addressing large crowds at Bellows Falls, 
Brandon, Rutland, Vergennes, Burling- 
ton and other places. The Rutland and 



Burlington Railroad was soon built, and 
is today the Rutland Division of the 
Central Vermont System. 

Colonel Parker was a man of splendid 
physique, tall, remarkably erect through 
life, and in all respects well proportioned. 
As a public speaker he also made his 
mark. In addition to Fast Day ad- 
dresses, railroad, political, educational 
and miscellaneous speeches, Colonel 
Parker delivered five Fourth of July 
orations, one in 18 13 at Falmouth in 
Virginia, one in Rockingham county, one 
in Vermont and two in Fitzwilliam. 
One of the finest gems of its kind was 
an address on " Education," delivered at 
Rindge on October 17, 1843, before the 
Cheshire County Common School Asso- 

In his boyhood days he was too studi- 
ous and busy to engage in any of the 
sports and dissipations which often un- 
dermine the constitutions of the more 
favored youths, and the temperate habits 
he then formed greatly augmented and 
preserved his constitution for work and 
a long life. 

At 80 he had the vigor, endurance and 
strength of a man of 50 ; and at 90 that 
of a man of 60. He was always re- 
garded as a well-read lawyer, a safe 
counselor, and when engaged in the trial 
of causes, a successful advocate. He was 
a good citizen and an honest man. 
He was a ready writer and a good 
thinker, and his success at the bar, upon 
the stump, and in the halls of Legisla- 
ture attested his power and influence as 
a speaker and debater. His was an 
active life, and he was long interested in 
the cause of education and temperance. 

Colonel Parker was a good Latin and 
Greek scholar ; he retained his knowl- 
edge of the classics to a remarkable 
degree during his whole life, and quoted 
Latin and Greek phrases and maxims, in 

his conversations and addresses, with 
great ease and fluency. He was quite 
a wit, and at times enjoyed a good 

A short anecdote illustrating his ready 
wit was recently related to the author of 
this sketch, by Hon. Albert S. Waite of 
Newport. While attending the session 
_of the court at Keene, between 40 and 
50 years ago, the judges and lawyers 
made their headquarters at "Col. 
Harrington's Tavern," as it was com- 
monly called in those days, and more 
recently the Eagle Hotel; at the familiar 
sound of the dinner bell, the presiding 
judge and the lawyers from the various 
towns in the county and other parts of 
the state attending the term of court, 
filed into the spacious dining room and 
took their seats at the well-loaded table, 
which was assigned by the good host to 
the judge and members of the bar. 
Among the prominent members of the 
bar of Cheshire county at that time was 
Judge Frederick Vose of Walpole, who 
was invariably punctual and constant in 
his attendance at court, the sessions of 
which generally lasted from five to six 
weeks, and he was also equally punctual 
in his attendance at the dinner table. 
On one occasion there were seated at 
the head of the table, His Honor John 
James Gilchrist, the presiding justice, 
E. L. Cusheon of Charlestown, Aldis 
Lovell of Alstead, A. H. Bennett of 
Winchester, Col. Amos A. Parker of 
Fitzwilliam and several other members 
of the bar from other portions of the 
state, including himself, who was seated 
at the table directly opposite Colonel 
Parker, who, after looking up and down 
the long table for several minutes, failed 
to see Judge Vose of Walpole in his ac- 
customed seat. Colonel Parker, turning 
to Brother Waite, ejaculated, " Inter 
Nos ? " (Where is Vose ?) which ere- 



ated great merriment among all those 
seated at the table, 

Colonel Parker was married three 
times, — first, to Miranda W., eldest 
daughter of Rev. Daniel C. Sanders, 
president of Vermont University at the 
time of Mr. Parker's graduation, by 
whom he had three children, two of 
whom still survive, George W., who re- 
sides at Halifax, Mass., and Andrew, 
who resides in Brooklyn, N. Y. He 
married second, Mary, daughter of 
United States Marshal McClary of 
Epsom, by whom he had four children, 
two of whom are still living, Mrs. 
Miranda S. Smith, widow of Anson B. 
Smith, formerly a hardware merchant of 
Winchendon, Mass., and Hon. John 
McClary Parker, now engaged in trade 
at Fitzwilliam, and who has served in 
both branches of the New Hampshire 
Legislature. H« married third, Julia E. 
Smith of Glastonbury, Conn., April 9, 
1879, he being at that time 88 and Miss 
Smith 86 years of age. 

Miss Smith had become famous some 
20 years before her marriage for resist- 
ing taxation without representation, or 
in other words, by refusing to pay taxes 
because she did not have the privilege 
of voting ; and also by a translation of 
the Bible from the original Hebrew and 
Greek into English unaided and alone 
after seven years of severe labor and 
study, and publishing 1,000 copies at 
her own expense. 

Her fame was in no wise diminished 
by her marriage to Colonel Parker at 
her advanced age. It was a nine days" 
wonder at the time, and more or less 
noticed by the newspaper press through- 
out the country, but it really proved to 
be followed by seven years of happy mar- 
ried life, during which time they resided 
at Glastonbury, and at Hartford, Con- 

She died March 6, 1886, and soon 
after Colonel Parker returned to his 
native town and resided with his youngest 
son, Hon. John M. Parker, as before 
stated, where he received all the care 
and attention necessary to make his de- 
clining years pleasant and happy. He 
was buried in our public cemetery, and 
a substantial headstone of native granite 
marks his final resting-place. At the 
time of his death the following editorial 
appeared in the Independent Statesman, 
printed at Concord, N. H. : "Colonel 
Amos A. Parker, once editor of the 
Statesman, has closed his more than a 
century of usefulness. Colonel Parker 
has lived a life marked by conscientious 
faithfulness to many a trust. As an 
editor, as a lawyer, as an official, he gave 
the best he had to the fulfilment of his 
duties, and went down the path of a 
green old age with powers unimpaired, 
with faculties undiminished, to a reward 
laid up by years of honesty with him- 
self, his fellow-men and his God." 




Up to my eighteenth year I had 
lived fancy free, though very suscep- 
tible to the beauty of girls, and slight- 
ly attached, at school and in the 
society of my companions, to this 
maiden or that who had fine eyes, a 
fair complexion and a social gift. To 
one pair of sisters, indeed, I was 
specially drawn by their loveliness 
and gentle ways. Toward the younger 
of the two, of my own age almost ex- 
actly, I had early manifested this in- 
terest when my years could not have 
exceeded seven. They had come with 
their cousin, who was also my cousin, 
to spend the afternoon and take tea 
with my two sisters ; it may have 
been the first time I had noticed the 
sweet beauty of Sarah C, who was 
the granddaughter of the former par- 
son of the parish. So strongly was I 
impressed by it, that while they were 
taking tea by themselves, boys not 
being expected to enjoy their com- 
pany, I went to my strong box, which 
contained all my little stock of silver, 
took from it a shining half dollar, the 
largest coin I had, and deftly trans- 
ferred it to the reticule of Sarah, 
hanging on the back of a chair in the 
" parlor chamber," all without telling 
anybody what I had done. The two 
girls (aged seven and ten) went home 
unsuspecting what had occurred, but 
in emptying the reticule that night, 
the coin was found, and Sarah know- 
ing nothing about it, the gift was 

sent back to the house of the tea- 
party, and my little scheme of endow- 
ing her with my worldly goods was 
discovered, to my confusion. 

There had been other fancies, but 
nothing serious until the year 1850, 
when I was just eighteen. Nor had 
I taken the burden of life very seri- 
ously in other directions. I had 
formed no scheme of life ; my educa- 
tion had been going on as already 
described, with no particular plan on 
my part or that of my family. My 
mother's cousin, Senator Norris, be- 
ing in Congress from 1843 until his 
death in 1855, it had been suggested 
that he should appoint me a cadet in 
the West Point military school ; but I 
had no turn for a soldier's life, and 
nothing was done to obtain his pat- 
ronage, which my grandfather, a vet- 
eran Democrat, could have secured, 
perhaps. So I drifted along, working 
on the farm perhaps half my time, 
studying, shooting, wandering about 
the pastures and woods with comrades; 
and spending my evenings in lively 
company, playing chess, cards, or, for 
a few years in the summer, joining a 
cooking club which met weekly in 
the thick woods far from houses, and 
got up a fine supper of chicken and 
coffee, with a dessert of sponge cake ; 
which one of our number, afterwards 
Capt. John Sanborn Godfrey, of Gen- 
eral Hooker's staff in the Civil War, 
had the secret of preparing to perfec- 

This entertainment had begun with 
my schoolmates, William Healey and 



Charles Brown, and two or three stu- 
dents of the Rockingham Academy, 
Cavender of St. Louis, Vanderveer of 
New York, and another, but was then 
transferred to an unfrequented pine 
wood, near the boundaries of Exeter, 
Hampton and Hampton Falls, and 
included two Tiltons and other school- 
mates on that part of the Exeter road. 
After I left home to enter college the 
Exeter congressman. Oilman Mars- 
ton, afterwards a general in the war, 
and some others from Exeter were 
admitted to the mysteries, but I never 
met with them later than 1850, I 

A more exacting literary society 
had been established about 1848 in 
the upper hall of the schoolhouse 
where I had been a pupil, under the 
name of the "Anti-Tobacco Society," 
at the instance, I suppose, of the good 
minister of the Unitarian parish. We 
helddebates, and soon established a 
MS. monthly journal, Star of Social 
Reform, which received contributions, 
supposed to be anonymous, from the 
members, male or female, and these 
were read at the monthly meetings. 
I early became a contributor, both in 
prose and verse, and in the summer 
of 1849 wrote a burlesque on the 
poem of " Festus," then much read 
in New England, in mild ridicule of 
the English author, Philip Bailey. 
The following winter the editor of the 
Star (now Mrs. S. H. Folsom of 
Winchester, Mass.), visiting her 
friend. Miss Ariana Smith Walker 
at Peterborough, showed her the 
"Festus" verses and some others, 
which she was good enough to like, 
and sent them to her dearest friend. 
Miss Ednah Eittlehale of Boston, the 
late Mrs. E. D. Cheney, with this 

March 30. 1850. I don't know that I should 
have written you today if I had not wanted to 
send you the enclosed. It purports to be a 
newly discovered scene from " Festus," and is 
written by a person who does not altogether 
like the book, as you will see from the last 
part, especially. I want you to read \\.first, and 
then read the little note which will tell you 
about the author, /think it is capital; tell me 
how it strikes you. Please return it to me in 
your next. A. S. W. 

A few weeks later, April 26, she 
added : 

I send you herewith some poetry of Frank S., 
the author of the new scene from " Festus." 
The little ballad, is, I think, very pretty. He 
called it " Night Thoughts," but I like "The 
Taper " better, — do not you? And now I will 
tell you that he is a Hampton Falls boy, and 
that his name is Sanborne. I will send you all 
I can of his writing, and I want you to write a 
criticism upon the " Festus," etc., for the Stat , 
a paper written by the j-oung people at H. Falls. 
They shan't know who writes it ; but won't you 
sometime send me a yort of laughing notice of 
this " new Poet "? I want you to, very much. 
Do you not get a pretty picture of the via id 
" who her needle plies," etc.? It reminded ine 
of your " Gretchen." 

The ballad was the subject, after- 
wards, of a commendator}' notice in 
the Star by A. S. W. which pleased 
the young poet, and led him to antici- 
pate the arrival of the critic; who also 
had some curiosity to see the youth 
about whom her friend had told her 
many things. When they first saw 
each other in the small church at 
Hampton Falls, she was sitting be- 
side her friend in the pew, and I was 
opposite, facing them, but only 30 feet 
away, so that our eyes met. She 
wrote on her folding fan, with a pin, 
" I don't dare look at Frank S.; he 
has a poetic face." In her next let- 
ter to Ednah she said (July 22, 1850): 

I have seen F. S., the young poet,— a face 
like the early portrait of Raphael, only Frank's 
eyes and hair are very dark. I don't care, now 
I have seen him, to speak or meet with him. 
[In fact two days after he called on her and was 
welcome.] When we began to talk earnestly I 




Birthplace of George and Anna Walker. 

forgot everything else in ray surprise and pleas- 
ure. I was astonished and delighted. There 
was a charm about everything he said, because 
he has thought more zvlioUy for himself than 
any one I ever met. ... In books, too, I 
was astonished at his preferences. It seemed 
strange that S/ielley should be the favorite poet 
of an uncultivated, I should say, self-cultivated 
boy; but so it is, and he talked of him and of 
the poems as I never heard any one talk, after 
his own fashion. . . . He stayed until 11, 
and yet I was neither weary nor sleepy, rather 
refreshed and invigorated. 

The "laughing notice " of the Fes- 
tus scenes, obligingly written by Miss 
lyittlehale, and sent to the editor of 
the Star, was this, followed by Miss 
Walker's comment on the ballad: 

The following notices of recent effusions we 
take the liberty of quoting for the benefit of the 
readers of the Star. This first,— a very brief 
extract (from the London Enquirer) from a 
notice of " The Supplementary Scene to Fes- 
tus," which appeared in the July (1849) num- 
ber of the Star; the second " Night Thoughts," 
from a source less foreign. 

The New Scene oj Feslus. 

The burlesque is capital ; the similes are 
some of them so like " Festus " one could easi- 
ly cheat another into the reality of certain pas- 
sages. Who this young devotee of St. Crispin 
is, we cannot divine. The lines show an admi- 
rable tact at verse making; we hope to see 
something which has the writer's soul in it, 
too. So promising a genius should be cultivated, 
not spoiled. 

I have elsewhere spoken of this love- 
ly vision of youth and spiritual grace 
first fairly seen by me in the Hamp- 
ton Falls church, July 20, 1850. She 
was the daughter of James Walker of 
Peterborough, a first cousin of Presi- 
dent Walker of Harvard College, and 
her mother, Sarah Smith, was the 
favorite niece of Judge Smith of Exe- 
ter. She had died in 1841, and Mr. 
Walker had remarried a daughter of 
Rev. Jacob Abbot of Hampton Falls. 
Ariana, named for Judge Smith's 



daughter, was born in the Carter 
house on the steep Peterborough hill- 
side, overlooking the river Contoocook 
from the northeast, and commanding, 
as all the hills thereabout do, a noble 
prospect of Monadnock. Her brother, 
George Walker, afterwards bank 
commissioner of Massachusetts and 
consul-general of the United States 
at Paris, was born five years earlier 
in the same house, and the brother 
and sister tripped down this hill in 
early childhood, near the mansion of 
their uncle, Samuel Smith, the judge's 
manufacturing brother, to attend the 
private school of Miss A.bbot, now 
Mrs. Horatio Wood of Lowell, whose 
younger sister James Walker married 
in 1844. Her uncle, Rev. Dr. Abiel 
Abbot, pastor at Peterborough, had 
earlier in his ministry, at Coventry in 
Connecticut, persuaded Jared Sparks, 
the future historian, then a carpenter 
in Mr. Abbot's parish, to go to the 
Phillips Academy at E^xeter in 1809. 
Mr. Abbot going to make a visit to 
his brother, the successor of President 
Langdon in the Hampton Falls pul- 
pit, slung the young man's box un- 
der his parson's chaise, while Sparks 
himself walked all the way to ICxeter; 
whither his box preceded him, to the 
care of Dr. Benjamin Abbot (a cousin 
of the Hampton Falls pastor), then 
Principal of the famous Academy. It 
was this intermarriage between the 
Abbot and Walker families that led, 
as above mentioned, to my first ac- 
quaintance with Anna Walker. Her 
stepmother had a sister, Mrs. Cram, 
married in their father's old parish, 
and living next door to the old house 
then occupied by Mrs. Joseph San- 
born, my uncle's widow, with her 
two children, who were cousins of 
Mrs. Cram's children. Indeed the 

two houses once had belonged to 
the Cram family, with only a garden 
between them; the later built of the 
two being more than a hundred years 
old, and soon to give place to a new 
house, in which many of vay inter- 
views with Miss Walker were after- 
wards held. But the old house, in its 
large parlor, was the memorable 
scene of our first interview, briefly 
described above by Anna herself. In 
a fuller entry in her journal she said : 

F. staj'cd until 11 and yet I was neither weary 
nor sleepj^, but rather refreshed and invigora- 
ted. He excused himself for staying so late, 
but said the time had passed rapidly. C. seemed 
very much surprised that he had spoken so 
freely to a stranger ; I think he himself will 
wonder at it. The conversation covered so 
many subjects that I could not help laughing 
on looking back upon it; he might have discov- 
ered the great fault of my mind, a want of 
method in my thoughts, as clearly as I saw his 
to be a want of hope. But talking with a new per- 
son is to me like going for the first time into a 
gallery of pictures. We wander from one paint- 
ing to another, wishing to see all, lest some- 
thing finest should escape us, and in truth see- 
ing no one perfectly and appreciatingly. Only 
after many visits and long familiarit3' can we 
learn which are really the best, most suggestive 
and most full of meaning ; and then it is before 
two or three that one passes the hours. So we 
wander at first from one topic of conversation to 
another, until we find which are those reaching 
farthest and deepest, and then it is these of 
which we talk most. My interest in Frank S. 
is peculiar; it is his intellectual and spiritual 
nature, and not hitiiself that I feel so much 
drawn to. I can't say it rightly in words, but I 
never was so strongly interested in one where 
the feeling was so little personal. 

This was by no means my own 
case. I had the strongest personal 
interest in this young lady, whose 
life had been so unlike my own, but 
who had reached in many points 
the same conclusions, literary, social 
and religious, which were my own, 
so far as a youth of less than nineteen 
can be said to have reached conclu- 
sions. We met again and again, and 



discussed not only Shelley, but Plato 
and Emerson, of whom we were both 
eager readers. She had received from 
her father the winter before Emer- 
son's "Representative Men," just 
after she had been reading Plato with 
Ednah Littlehale, and she was also 
familiar with several of the other 
characters in that volume, — her stud- 
ies in German having advanced fur- 
ther than mine. Two years earlier she 
had read Emerson's first book, "Na- 
ture," more than once, and at the 
age of 1 8 thus wrote of it to Ednah : 

April I, 1848. I am glad you have read "Na- 
ture." It has long been one of my books. It 
lies at this moment on my little table, and sel- 
dom does a day pass without my finding there 
something that chimes with the day's thought. 
Emerson always gives me a feeling of quiet, 

simple strength. I go to him, therefore, when 
I am weak and feeble, — not when I am full 
of unrest and disquiet. My soul is at times 
the echo of his; like the echo, however, it can 
only give back a single word. I bow in quiet 
joy at his grander thought; but, like him, I do 
not therefore yield my own. The light of his 
spirit does not dazzle my eyes so that all seems 
dark elsewhere; on the contrary, the world 
around me, reflecting back that radiance, 
smiles in a new-born glory. I love the whole 
earth more, that I know him more truly. 

Of the crayon by Morse, here en- 
graved, which remained in Boston 
some weeks after it was finished, that 
winter of 1 847-' 48, she thus wrote to 
Ednah, February 6, 1848 : 

George Walker is very enthusiastic about 
Morse and the picture. "It is almost too fine," 
etc. From what he told me I should think it 
decidedly the finest of Morse's pictures. Tell 
him I could not have been more glad if the pic- 




ture had been my own. Greenough, the sculp- 
tor, says it is the finest crayon ever done in 
Boston. Shall I tell you what I felt when I 
read George's letter?— a deep regret that I was 
not beautiful. I could wish myself lovely for 
Morse's sake, for the sake of his fame; because 
then the piciure would have been finer. 

No one ever found this portrait 
other than beautiful. When I first 
saw her, two years after Alpheus 
Morse had finished it, her expression 
had changed from the serene, saintly 
look which Morse depicted, to one of 
more vivacity and gayety, which in 
her periods of comparative health was 
her natural expression, and which 
made her even more charming than 
in the earlier portrait. She had just 
reached 18 when it was drawn, and it 
was made for her brother, herself re- 
taining only a daguerre from it. 

Our second evening was that of 
August I, and this is the record of it 
in her journal : 

Last night F. S. was here again. We had 
been wishing he would come but did not expect 
him. He was in a fine mood, but one or two 
things I regret in the evening's talk. He had 
spoken of many things earnestly, and at last 
he mentioned James Richardson's proposal that 
he should enter into the ministry. We all 
laughed. I wanted to say something of his 
future life; but I seemed to have no right. He 
said "That is the last thing I should chose." 
"No," said I, with decision, "preaching is not 
your mission." I felt as if I must go on, but I 
restrained myself and was silent. He must 
have thought we ridiculed the idea of his becom- 
ing a minister, because we thought him un- 
equal to the work. I did not feel this so fully 
then as I did after he was gone; but it hurts me 
to Lave so repulsed him, for I think he wished 
us to say something more — to talk with him of 
himself and of his future. O golden opportu- 
nity! I fear it is lost and will not come again. 

We talked of many things — I more of peo- 
ple than formerly. His mind is analytic, the in- 
tellect predominating and governing the heart ; 
feelings do not often get the mastery. He is 
calm and searching, with a very keen insight 
into the merits or demerits of a style. This is 
characteristic of his mind. He is unsparingly 
just to his own thought. He is not at all a 
dreamer; or, if he is ever so, his dreams are not 

enervating. He is vigorous, living, strong. 
Calmness of thought is a large element of his 
nature; it extends to the feelings as well as the 
intellect. Yet there is fire under the ice, and I 
imagine if it should be reached it would flame 
forth with great power and intensity. 

We talked of Plato and Herbert and Shelley, 
and many others. He says it is not the thought 
of "Alastor" that makes it his favorite, but the 
versification. I do not think now that he is 
wanting in severity. He went away after eleven. 
"I have stayed even later than the other night," 
said he, "quite too late." "Oh, no, not at all," 
said I. I think he liked to come again. It 
may seem vain to saj' so, but I suspect he had 
seldom talked with anyone exactly as he did 
with us tonight. C. is the only person here 
who would care to talk with him on such sub- 
jects; and her gentle modesty would not allow 
her to sit deliberately down to draw any one 
out as I have done with Frank. C. said she did 
not know he could talk so finely. I belief that 
to him it was a relief. He has a rich nature, 
and yet my interest in him has little to do with 
feelings, less so than I could have supposed 
possible for me. 

Ah, how little do we at such times 
know ourselves ! The next few weeks 
showed that nothing so interested her 
feelings as the fortunes of this youth. 

As I wrote the above, Mrs. Cram asked me 
why, if I felt that F. had misunderstood what I 
said of his becoming a minister, I did not write 
him a no\e, and tell him what I then wished so 
much to say. She urged my doing so, and at 
last I wrote the following, which I showed to 
her, and which she advised my sending: 


Whtn you spoke last night of Mr. R.'s prop- 
osition that you should enter the ministry,! have 
thought that what I replied might and must 
have given you a wrong impression. When I 
said with decision that I did not think preach- 
ing your mission, it was not because I feared 
you would fail in that or, in anything for which 
you should heartily strive; but because it seems 
to me as if no one should take such a mission 
upon himself unless he feels a decided call, and 
is sensible of a peculiar fitness. 

Your work in life seems to me more clearly 
pointed out than that of most men; it comes 
under that last head in " Representative Men ;" 
we need you as a writer. I know how much 
of struggle and even of suffering such a life 
must contain, but Plato says, "When one is 
attempting noble things it is surely noble also 
to suffer whatever it may befall bini to suffer." 

I feel that there is that within you which 
cannot rightfully be hidden; and your success 
seems to me sure, if you will but bend your 
whole energies to this end. I wish I were wise 
enough to suggest something more than the goal 
to be reached; but I am sure you will have 



other and more efficient friends who will give 
you the aid of experience. 

Perhaps you will think I presume upon a 
short acquaintance to say all this; but it is often 
given to us "to foresee the destiny of another 
more clearly than that other can," and it seems 
to me only truth to strive "by heroic encour- 
agements to hold him to his task." Will you 
pardon my boldness? I give you God-speed. 
Your friend, 

Anna W. 

The next day the journal goes on: 

We rode to the Hill (the post-ofBce) and left 
Frank's note with his little brother, Josey, at 
school. I felt sorry I had sent it the moment it 
was fairly gone, and if I could have recalled it 
I certainly should. It contained little of mj' 
thought, and would do harm if not received 
earnestly. It is difficult to do good. I hope I 
shall see and talk with F. before I go to Glou- 

August 3. This evening, as I lay wearily on 
the sofa, for I had been sick all day, Charles 
Healey came in, and immediately afterward, 
Frank. I felt not at ease, for we could say 
nothing of what was in both our thoughts 
often and often, I am sure. I seemed stupid, 
talked, but said nothing. Frank was gay — he 
is seldom that; C. said when he had gone, 
"Anna, I saw your influence in all F'. said to- 
night, — he was happy." I don't know what to 
think. Why did he come and why has he said 
nothing about my note? It requires speedy 

August 6, Tuesday. I felt all day as if some- 
thing was going to happtn to me, and in the 
afternoon F. C. brought me a letter from 
Frank. It was calm, manly, kind, sincere, ear- 
nest ; not warm — apart from feeling. I felt it very 
much. A note which came with it, and which 
contained little in words, gave me an impres- 
sion of feeling which the letter did not. A son- 
net F. sent me also, which I like. He added 
some marginal notes which rather made a jest 
of it; but I think the sonnet was written ear- 
nestly, and the notes were an afterthought 
to conceal that earnestness. How deeply, how 
strongly I am interested in Frank! I feel as if 
1 must help him. He has hardly been out of 
my thoughts an hour since I wrote the note. 
And now his frankness gives a new tone to my 
thought ; for I feel as if I might perhaps do 
something for him. 


Our life — a casket of mean outward show, 
Hides countless treasures, jewels rich and rare. 
Whose splendid worth, whose beauty, won- 
drous fair, 
Only the favored few may see and know 
On whom the partial Gods in love bestow. 
To ope the stubborn lid, the silver key; 

And such methinks, have they bestowed on 

Or shall I say ? o'er all things base and low 

Thou hast the blessed power of alchemy, 
Changing their dross and baseness into gold; 

And in all vulgar things on earth that be. 
Awakening beauty, as the Greek of old 

Wrought vase and urn of matchless sj'mmetry 
From the downtrodden and unvalued mould. 
August 6, 1850. F. B. S. 

Wednesday, Aug. 7. I went to the Sewing 
Circle on Munt Hill. I had three reasons for 
going — to be with Gate, to sit under the green 
trees once again, and to see Frank, who I felt 
sure would be there. I had a beautiful but 
wearisome afternoon. I liked to sit under the 
green arches of the oaks and maples, and to 
watch the play of faces, and read through them 
in the souls of those around me. Cate is the 
best, and most beautiful and worthj- to be 
loved; and next to her I was drawn to Helen 
Sanborn. She iscold and self-centered, but she 
interests me. I want to know what all that 
coldness covers and conceals. Frank came; he 
greeted me last, and then almost distantly^ 
certainly coldly. He was gay and witty, and we 
had a little talk together, sitting after tea in the 
doorway. Miss (Nanc5') Sanborn's house* is 
prettily located, but there is something reallj* 
mournful in such a lonely life as hers. Heaven 
save me from so vacant, so desolate a life as 
that of most unmarried women! 

We had a pleasant ride home, and I thought 
F. might come up in the evening. If he does 
not I shall probably not see him again. I hope 
he will come. 

August 8. He did come up last night, and we 
talked very earnestly and freely together. I 
think I never spoke with more openness to 
any one; we forgot we were Frank and Anna, 
and talked as one immortal soul to another. 

The conversation began by Gate's showing 
him my Analyses. I sat in a low chair at C.'s 
feet, and w^atched his face while he read. It was 
steady; I could not read it, and I admired his 
composure, because I do not think it arose from 
a want of feeling. He said, when he had fin- 
ished, that he should not like to say whose the 
first analysis was; it might apply in parts to 
many ; and then turned to his own, and began to 
talk of it; not easily, but with difficulty and re- 
serve. I gave him a pencil and asked him to 
mark what he thought untrue. He made three or 
four marks, and explained why he did so; but 
not for some time did he say that it was himself 
of whom he spoke. He said I overrated him; 
he was quick but confused, and he complained 
of a want of method, strictness and steadiness 

*The old Sanborn house near Munt Hill, in Chap- 
ter 1. 



of purpose, in his intellectual nature. 1 thought 
these rather faults of habit than of nature; few 
minds left so wholly to themselves, with so 
little opportunity, would have been other than 

To be overestimated, or to feel himself so, is 
extremely painful to Frank, and he constantly 
referred to it. "I shall not, I think, be injured 
by your praises," said he atone time; "I have 
a mirror always near me which shows me to 
mj'self as I really am." In referring to that 
part of the analysis where I spoke of his 
being less self-dependent than he thought 
himself, he said, "Yes, I want some superior 
friend to whom I can go at all times, and who 
will never fail me." Who of us does not need 
such a friend? I thought of Ednah gratefully. 

In talking of the ways and means of life 
before him, I told him how deeply I felt my own 
want of practical ability; it seemed idle to 
suggest only the goal to be reached, and to 
say nothing of the paths leading thereto. 
"After all," said I, with real feeling. "I have 
not helped you." "I am afraid," he said, "that 
you suffer as I do, from a want of self-confi- 
dence." Cate urged me to greater freedom, for 
I was embarrassed, and I said in reply, "I wish 
I were wise." "I hope it is not my wisdom 
that restrains you," he said with great gentle- 
ness, "a little child might lead me." The tone 
of feeling touched me, I looked at him quietly, 
and talked more clearly of school and college, 
and all the possibilities which the future held 
out to him, and the probabilities. 

I told him it was the discipline he needed 
most, — not so much the books he would study 
as the power he would obtain over his own 
thoughts, and the opportunities which such 
a life would open to him. He then spoke of 
himself, and said that he feared a sedentary 
life would "only hasten what would come soon 
enough of itself." And for the first time I 
observed the hollow chest and the bright color 
which indicate consumptive tendencies in him. 
Health must not be sacrificed; his work in life 
must not be hindered by bodily weakness; this 
is an important consideration. He then spoke 
of Mr. R.'s proposition, and, finally, all solved 
itself in the question, " What is really my work 
in life?" 

" I think," said I in reply, " that there might 
be a person wise enough to decide for you." 
"I think so, too," said he quickly, "and I 
wish that person would decide," — " or those 
persons," he added, after a moment. I thought 
it possible he might mean Cate or myself by 
"that person"; but I did not feel capable of 
choosing for him, even if he had thought of me 
when he spoke, — and of that I greatly doubt. 
So no reply was made, — but the final result 
seemed to be, that if his health would allow, 

private lessons or school would be the best 
thing open to him. 

In looking again at the Analysis,* — I told him 
that it would not bear severe intellectual crit 
icism; it must necessarily have many and great 
faults. He said, "It is almost perfect, except 
that you stood at too high a point of view, 
so that some defects were concealed," — and 
seemed surprised that he should have laid him- 
self open so far in so short a time. But " I see 
that I must have done so, unless you have 
much clearer eyes than most people." "Not 
tliHt," said I, "but I have a habit of studying 
souls; persons are more to me than to most. 
I read in them as you read in books. I have 
seen in you tonight some new traits of charac 
ter." He then asked me to add them to the 
analysis; but I would not promise to do so. 
" I hope," he said, " that you are not going to 
conceal anything. Talk to me as if I were a 
chair or a table; I can bear any truth, — do not 
fear to wound me." " I am not afraid to be 
severe with you," said I. 

The conversation turned upon many things 
which I cannot write here, — upon pride, upon 
faith in a future life, etc. It was not till after 
midnight that he said he must go; and then it 
was evidently only because he felt he ought; 
the conversation held him. " When," heasked, 
"shall you be in Hampton Falls again?" 
" Perhaps in one year, perhaps not for several," 
said I. "Then it is doubtful when we shall 
see one another again. I shall not be likely to 
meet you anywhere else." "Yes," said I, 
" when I see you next, your destiny will prob 
ably be decided." "I will promise you," he 
said, "that my choice shall be made as quicklj- 
as possible." 

I told him I hoped I should hear of it when 
he did so. He said he might not be in Hamp- 
ton Falls at that time, and seemed, I half 
thought, to wish me to ask him to tell me him- 
self of his decision; but I hesitated to do so. 
and so said nothing. "And so," he said again, 
as he bade me good-by, " it is uncertain 
whether we shall see each other again for 

* The close of this is as follows : " Has many 
noble aspirations yet unsatisfied.' Still seeking, 
seeking, groping in the dark. He wants a definite 
end for which to strive heailily; then his success 
would be SURE. Much executive power, executes 
better than he plans. 

" Loves the beautiful in all things. He has much 
originality; his thoughts and tastes are peculiarly 
hisown. Is impatientof wrong, and almost equally 
so oi inability. Is gentle in spite of a certain cold- 
ness about him;" has strong passions in spite of 
his general calmness of intellect and affection. 
A nature not likely to find rest, struggle is its 
native element; wants a steady &\xa^, must work, 
standing still is impossible ; but he must have a 
great motive for which to strive. 

Aug. sift, 1850. 

" Many contradictions in this analysis, but not 
more than there are in the character itself." 



years. Well, — I shall always remember that 
there is one person in the world who thinks 
more highly of me than I do of myself." We 
shook hands, and he went awaj-. 

Intellectually, or by a certain fitness between 
us, I seemed to draw near to him, and I think 
he was sorry that our acquaintance should have 
been so transient, and should have terminated 
so suddenly. It seems strange to think of 
now, and not quite real to me; but I feel it has 
been of great service to me, however little 
I have done to help him. I have never seen 
any one like Frank. It is good to have a new- 
interest in life, and in him I shall always feel 
strongly interested. I believe the journal of 
this evening is very poor; it gives not the least 
idea of what I consider as almost the most sin- 
gular conversation in my life, — and the end of 
a strange experience. 

Ah, no ! it was the beginning of 
that experience of which Dante wrote 
in his Vita Nuova, — " Behold a Spirit 
Cometh mightier than thou, who shall 
rule over thee." This gentle maiden 
had not been averse to Love, but now 
he came in his full armor. The tell- 
tale journal goes on: 

When he was gone I felt so full of regret that 
I had not spoken more wisely to him that I 
covered my face with my hands and let the 
warm tears flow fast, — but it was only for a 
moment. I was excited as I seldom am; felt 
strong and free, and as I looked out of the 
window had an inclination to throw myself 
down on the cool grass below. The girls would 
not let me talk; they went to their rooms, — 
but I lay waking all the night through. How 
I wished for some divining power to give me 
a knowledge of Frank's thoughts ! Had I 
helped him ? was this meeting of ours to have 
any influence upon his life? and if so, would it 
work for good or evil ? was this the beginning 
or the end of some new life? Lastly, how had 
he thought of me? finelj' and highly, or had I 
seemed poor and bold ? Upon his thought of 
rae all the power of this evening to help him 
must depend; and I felt doubtful what it had 
been. Are we really to see each other no 
more ? and is this to end our acquaintance ? 
Have I been forbearing enough ? Should I not 
have waited to be sought, and not have gone 
out to meet him? But my motive was pure 
and disinterested; does he know that? Of 
course he could not seek me. There certainly 
was feeling in him tonight, — I saw it in his face. 
It is true then that he loves X. ? These and a 
thousand other questions I went on asking. 

while the night wore away. I rose ill and fee- 
ble, and all day have suffered much; though 
not more than I expected last night. I have 
written F. a note, the principal object of which 
is to ask him to tell me himself when his deci- 
sion is made as to his future life. I shall send 
it with the Analysis. Mrs. C. has seen and 
approved of it, and I trust to her judgment. 
There is much more feeling in it than in his 
letter; but it seemed to me not to touch upon 
sentiment. Beside, F. is not vain, — the strange 
boy ! 

There was no occasion to doubt 
how I had received all this inspira- 
tion and encouragement to a more 
active life. It had been taken exactly 
as it was meant, and no thought un- 
worthy of the most ideal friendship 
occurred to me. But the arrow of 
Love had wounded me also, and I 
was not so unconscious of it as Anna 
was. We continued to correspond, 
and I went on my projected trip to 
the White Mountains early in Sep- 
tember, with my head and heart both 
enlisted in her service. In one of my 
letters I sent her these lines, which, 
after the avowal of my love in Novem- 
ber, I completed to a sonnet, by the 
lines of the final couplet: 


As calmest waters mirror Heaven the best. 
So best befit remembrances of Thee 
Calm, holy hours, from earthly passion free, 
Sweet twilight musing, — Sabbaths in the breast: 
No stooping thought, nor any groveling care 
The sacred whiteness of that place shall stain. 
Where, far from heartless joys and rites pro- 
Memory has reared to Thee an altar fair; 

Yet frequent visitors shall kiss the shrine, 
And ever keep its vestal lamp alight, — 
All noble thoughts, all dreams divinely bright. 
That waken or delight this soul of mine. 

SoL,ove, meek pilgrim ! his young vows did pa j'. 
With glowing eyes that must his lips gainsay. 

In the meanwhile she had gone to 
spend the rest of August with her 
dear Ednah at Gloucester by the sea- 
side, and from there, two weeks after 



this parting at Hampton Falls, she 
wrote to her friend Cate what I may- 

(twenty to eighteen.) 

Gloucester, August 22nd, 1850. 

. . . And now, dear, — I want to talk to you 
about Frank, — about whose future I have had 
much anxious thought. There seem to me to 
be many objections to both the plans we men- 
tioned in that evening's conversation, which were 
not as clear to me then as now, — I mean the go- 
ing to college or the studying with Mr. Richard- 
son.* Amid the sedentary habits of Cambridge 
I really fear for Frank's health, — so many have 
I seen sink under them who were more vigorous 
than he; and so often have I mourned over 
earthly promise lost, — ruthlessly thrown away, — 
amid influences like those, where everything 
was sacrificed to the mtellect. With all the ex- 
ternal struggles which Frank would be forced to 
undergo in addition to these, I feel as if it were 
hardly possible for him to go through a course 
at Cambridge without impaired health, — and, as 
a necessary consequence, inevitable, diminished 
powers ; for let no one dream that he can break 
otie of God's laws without the wkoie being suffer- 
ing therefrom. Frank's health tntisthe. preserved; 
his work in life tniist not be hindered or marred 
by bodily weakness. He owes it to the good 
God who has given so much to him not to "lay 
waste his powers," — that he may remain here 
with us, and help us to live, as long as he can. 
Is it not so, darling } 

With regard to Mr. Richardson, even if that 
should be open to Frank, I doubt if it would 
really hQ for the best. James Richardson's faults 
of mind are so exactly those which F. complains 
of in himself, that I fear he would not obtain 
from him that discipline which he most needs. 
There is not enough rd-rt/z/j/ about J. R. to satisfy 
the wants of a true and strong nature; not that 
I fear cotitagion, for Frank has more power of 
self-preservation than any person I ever met, 
and he might as well cease to be, as cease to be 
true: but his teacher should be a man of strict 
and accurate mind, with an element even of 
intellectual severity in it, — with a soul open to 

*Rev. James Richardson, a classmate of Thoreau 
at Harvard, was then settled at Haverhill, Mass., 
and, preaching- at Hampton Falls the preceding 
April had met F. B. S. and urged him to go to col- 
lege,— promising to aid him, if ueedful. Nothing 
had come of this, or was likely to. Prof. J. G. Hoyt 
was the teacher of Greek and mathematics at Exe- 
ter Academy,— an active anti-slavery man also. 

enthusiasm but not possessed hy \i, — and ready 
and willing to impart its wealth to others. Such 
a man Mr. K. is not, and I do not say this from 
my own knowledge, merely, but from the better 
knowledge of those who have known him long 
and intimately. 

And now, after all this, dear, I want to make 
a new suggestion to Frank,— which is that in- 
stead of either of these things he should remain 
at Hampton Falls, and take private lessons of 
Mr. Hoyt at Exeter, during this winter at least. 
Going into Exeter once or twice a week would 
be easy for him, and all that would be needful 
in his case. And from all I hear of Mr. Hoyt 
he is admirably fitted to be Frank's guide. Ed- 
nah, who knows him, says he is just the person, 
she should think, to do F. good; I only judge of 
him through others. If I were Frank I should 
go to Mr. H. and tell him just how it was with 
me, — that it was the discipline of education that 
I wanted, and not to be fitted for any particular 
profession ; and I should ask his advice as to 
the studies best to pursue. If Frank would do 
this, I do not fear for the result; if I am not 
mistaken in my opinion of Mr. H. at the end of 
the winter he would no longer stand in need of 
that friend who is wise enough to choose for him 
his future course in life. 

Does not this seem to you the best and most 
possible present course for Frank } It does 
seem so to me; and I have thought of this with 
far more anxiety and effort than I have bestowed 
even upon 7ny own winter, and all that must de- 
pend thereon. Can I say more ? or will you 
understand fully that this is tny best judgment, — 
which can only pass for what it is worth .? though 
I would it were of a thousand times more value 
than it is. . . . After all, this can only be a 
suggestion, — for it is made without a full knowl- 
edge of facts, and there may be many objections 
known to Frank, of which I am wholly ignorant. 
I would only offer it as all that I have to give. 

Frank's course in life, as it lies clearly in my 
thought, seems to be this : To devote the next 
four or five years to as severe study (and I do not 
mean by study mere getting of lessons) as a 
strict obedience to the laws of health will allow; 
to take for this time intellectual discipline as the 
principal, though not the exclusive end and aim 
of life, — and for this purpose to make use of all 
and the best means in his power. At the end of 
those years he may work with his hands at any- 
thing he pleases; there is no labor which a 
noble soul cannot dignify. He shall make shoes 
or be a farmer, or whatever else he finds easiest, 
— if he will give us his best thoughts through 
pen and paper, — if he does also his appointed 



spiritual and intellectual work. He shall even 
settle clown quietly in H. F. if so his choice lead 
him (for place will be little to him when he has 
obtained full possession of himself), — so that he 
do but let his light so shine before men that they 
may see his good works and give thanks to the 
Father therefor. I would not condenm him to 
the hard struggles of the merely literary man, 
even if his physical strength would allow ; for in 
this money-loving Yankee land want and suffer- 
ing are the sure accompaniments of such a life; 
but I ivould have him fitted to use to ihe fiiH 
those powers of mind which God has given him 
for the benefit of others; and I would have this 
work of a writer the highest end and aim of life, 
— although other things may be the needful and 
even beautiful accessories. 

And now I wish you to s/toiu this part of my 
letter to Frank; and I should hke him to con- 
sider it without any reference to its being my 
opinion (for I think it would have not viore but 
less weight, perhaps, on that account), but sim- 
ply as a suggestion worthy of thought, while he 
is making his decision with regard to his future 
life, and the immediate steps to be taken therein. 
" If I were to proffer an earnest prayer to the 
gods for the greatest of earthly privileges," says 
Mr. Alcott in his Journal, " it should be for a 
severely candid friend." That, at least, I am and 
have been to Frank; and even should he think 
me inclined to force and intrude my opinions 
upon him, I will not selfishly shrink from doing 
what I think right, because I may thereby suffer 
the loss of his good opinion. I am very anxious 
that Frank should now and quickly have some 
intellectual guide and friend ; and such, I hope, 
Mr. H. might become to him. Hitherto he has 
stood alone, for he is strong and cheerfiil, — but 
now he wants a helping hand, though it do but 
touch him gently, so that he may feel himself a 
link in the great chain that binds humanity to- 
gether. For this he appears to me not yet to 
have felt quite clearly. He himself says " A 
little child might lead me ", — but he cannot be 
led, — only guided, — and even that must be by 
his superior. 

I incline to think he has never learned much 
from any one soul ; for his life has been rather 
in thoughts than persons; but all things, ani- 
mate and inanimate, have been his unconscious 
teachers; and should I seem to flatter if I said 
that, like his own Pilgrim, he has in him " some- 
thing of the universality of Nature herself ? " 
I think I do but use the expression with his own 
meaning. I have spoken to you dear, often, of 
the suffering of Frank's probable life, — but not 
from any feeble wish to hold him from it. He 

must go upward by the " steep but terrible way " 
— by VnQ precipice — and not by the zvinding path, 
— and I say God speed. 

There is one other person in Exeter who would 
take Frank as a pupil, I have no doubt, — and 
that is Mr. Hitchcock.* In belles lettres he is 
far superior to Mr. Hoyt, and indeed to most 
men, — and I think he might gratify Frank's 
tastes more fully ; but I doubt if he has so strict 
and accurate a mind as Mr. Hoyt, or would 
prove so good a guide for F. I should like him 
to be Frank'sy;7>«(/, and not his teacher. 

I followed this very wise counsel, 
took lessons in Greek of Mr. Hoyt 
for a year, and then entered Phillips 
Exeter Academy for seven months, 
and from that entered at Harvard a 
year in advance, — having read much 
lyatin before going to Exeter, The 
arrangement had the incidental ad- 
vantage, not foreseen by either of us, 
that I could receive my letters and 
parcels from Anna, and send my own 
without attracting too much notice 
from friends and relatives, — who were 
generally excluded from knowledge 
of the correspondence. 

I have sometimes thought that a 
young man of less vanity than F. B. S. 
might be excused for hoping that a 
lady, who evidently took so deep an 
interest in his character and future 
career, had at least a slight personal 
reason for so doing. But that would 
have been unjust to this rare person- 
age, who certainly was the most un- 
selfish, altruistic and just of all women. 
The disclosure of love was truly as 
great a surprise to her three months 
after this as anything could have 
been ; but that it was not unwelcome 
the event proved. 

* Rev. Ro.swell Hitchcock was then pleaching' at 
the old church in Kxeter, but afterwards became 
the head of the Calviuistic linion Theological Sem- 
inary at New York. Anna's judgment of him was 
very just; what her observation had been I know 
not; but once taking tea with him would have 
given her this perception, so remarkable was her 



Soon after my return from the 
White Mountains I made the arrange- 
ment with Prof. J. G. Hoyt of the 
Exeter Academy, by which I was to 
recite to him in Greek for a year be- 
fore entering regularly as a student in 

My visits to his study were weekly, 
and this was the beginning of a friend- 
ship with a noble man, which contin- 
ued so long as he lived. Years 
afterward he wished me to take a po- 
sition with him in the Washington 
University at St. Louis ; as the late 

at Hampton Falls, she wrote me a 
letter early in November, asking my 
confidence in the matter. To con- 
vince her what the truth was, I con- 
fessed my ardent love for her. She 
received the avowal as it was meant, 
but in a spirit of self-denial, she de- 
ferred the acceptance for a time. The 
journal, as formerly, received her con- 
fession : 

I opened the note (November "21, 1850) and 
read the first two or three lines, and covered my 
face with my hands. It seemed impossible to 
believe in the reality of what I saw. That 


Exeter Street in I 850. 

Amos Eawrence had offered me, a few 
years earlier, the head mastership of 
the Eawrence Academy in Kansas, 
which has become the State Univer- 
sity. For good reasons, I declined 
both offers. 

Miss Eittlehale, whom I first met at 
Exeter in the spring of 1852, was in 
the autumn of 1850 seriously ill for a 
long time at her father's house, 44 
Bowdoin street, Boston ; and there 
Miss Walker visited her in October 
and November of that year. Misap- 
prehending some circumstances in my 
relations with her particular friends 

Frank could love tiie, — weak, feeble, unworthy 
as I am, — I had never even dreamed. When I 
could read the little note, it was so clear, so like 
Frank, that I could only thank God that he loved 
me. Had he been near me then, — could not 
but have, told him that I loved him. I, the 
lonely, felt myself no more alone ; and life 
looked fair to me in this new radiance. 

So early and so bold an avowal fixed 
the fate of both ; they could never 
afterward be other than lovers, how- 
ever much the wisdom of the world 
pleaded against a relation closer than 
friendship. But the world must not at 
first know the footing upon which they 
stood ; even the father and brother 



must imagine it a close friendship, 
such as her expansive nature was 
so apt to form, and so faithful to 
maintain. One family in Hampton 
Falls and one friend in Boston. Miss 
lyittlehale, were to be cognizant of 
the truth ; and it was not clear, for 
years, to the self - sacrificing good 

ment of marriage, to be fulfilled 
when my college course should be 
ended, and my position in the world 
established. The announcement was 
made in i<S53, following a recurrence 
of the mysterious illness from which 
she had suffered more or less since 
1846, and of which she died in 1854. 





^^^^^SpRfv •' .''- 



fT.  .^ 

- -1 

George Walker in Pans, 1886. 

sense of the maiden, what her ulti- 
mate answer to the world might 
be. Hence misunderstandings and 
remonstrances from those who saw 
more clearly than the young lovers 
could, how many outward obstacles 
opposed themselves to this union of 
hearts. But the union remained un- 
broken, and could at last be pro- 
claimed to the world as an engage- 

In the intervening four years since 
our first meeting, great happiness had 
been ours, and also much suffering, 
from the uncertainties of life and the 
divided allegiance which she owed to 
her family and to her lover. Finally 
this source of unhappiness was re- 
moved, and it was seen by all that her 
choice was to be accepted, whatever 
the results might be. Her brother 



George was her confidant after a 
little. His relation to his sister after 
the death of their mother, and in the 
feeble health and engrossing occupa- 
tions of their father, was peculiarly 
admirable. When she found herself 
more closely bound to another, this 
new tie was not allowed to weaken 
the fraternal affection. He adopted 
the youth who had so unexpectedly 
become dear, as a younger brother ; 
and his delicate generosity in circum- 
stances w'hich often produce estrange- 
ment was never forgotten. In pub- 
lic life he was the same consider- 
ate and high-minded gentleman ; not 
regardless of the advantages which 
social position and moderate wealth 
give, but ever ready to share his 
blessings, instead of engrossing all 
within reach to himself and his circle. 
Without the commanding talents or 
decisive character which make men 
illustrious, and secure unchanging 
fortune, he had, as Chauning said of 
Henry Thoreau, "what is better, — 
the old Roman belief that there is 
more in this life than applause and 
the best seat at the dinner table, — 
to have moments to spare to thought 
and imagination, and to those who 
need you." 

Yet this affectionate brother seemed 
at first to stand like a lion in the path 
that was to bring two lovers together. 
A month after the declaration, Anna 
wrote to Ednah lyittlehale, her dear- 
est friend : 

And yet, my Ednah. even you are not dearer 
to me than Frank is. I cannot bear to tell 
George of all this until F. has achieved for him- 
self so much that it will not seem mere madness 
to George. I think I cannot speak of this to 
him until this is so. I cannot expose F. more 
than myself to the pain that would follow ; and 
yet you say it would not be right to keep this a 
secret, — and I could not ask a longer waiting of 

Frank; how shall it be with us? Will you help 
me as much as human love can aid, and tell me 
what you think of all this ? I, your child, ask it 
of you as I would have done of my mother, were 
she living and near me; will you refuse me? 
" Will F. be able to like you "? Yes, yes, yes, — 
as much as I do; he would love you, — you 
would suit ; only you must see each other first 
\nuler favorable circumstances, — not in Town, 
not ceremoniously. I send you inclosed F.'s 
letters: I wish you to return them ^?/ <7//(V, and 
write to me of them some time, frankly, — just 
what you feel, — this, dearest, at your leisure. 
. . . Believe me that I do not muse and 
dream; the only time when I am ever guilty of 
this is in the very early morning, — when I have 
waked sometimes from dreams of F., and, half 
waking, half sleeping, have fancied what we 
should say to one another when we met. 

And to show that I was no better in 
that respect, she enclosed to Ednah 
my last sonnet : 


Being absent yet thou art not wholly gone, 

For thou hast stamped thine image on the 
world ; 
It shines before me in the blushing dawn. 

And sunset clouds about its grace are curled ; 
And thou hast burthened every summer breeze 

With the remembered music of thy voice, 
Sweeter than linnet's song in garden trees, 

And making wearisome all other joys. 
Sleep vainly strives to bar thee from his hall, — 

Thou win'st light entrance in a dream's dis- 
And there with gentlest sway thou rulest all 

His gliding visions and quick fantasies ; 
The busy day is thine; the quiet night 

Sleeps in thy radiance, as the skies in light. 

"These I thought you would like," 
she adds at the foot ; " tell me if you 
do." The topic was never far from 
her mind, wherever she might be. 
At Westford, visiting her stepmoth- 
er's sister, the aunt of her Hampton 
Falls confidante, she wrote to Ednah 
(Jan. 20, 1851) : 

One thing Cate tells me, that I am very glad 
of. She says that last summer Frank gave all 
the letters he had had from me to his sister 
Sarah ; and asked her to read them, and tell him. 



if there was any peculiar feeling in them ? She 
did so, and said to him that she did not think 
there was. Then he told her the way he was 
going, — that he felt he had no power to resist, — 
that he saw himself daily passing into deeper 
waters ; that every day he loved me more and 
more, and could not go back a single step. And 
he asked her to read the letters again, with refer- 
ence to his feeling for me, and tell him what she 
thought of them. She gave them back to him, 
and only said, "Frank, you must watch over your- 
self unceasingly." It is a help to me that Sarah 
knows of this. I can be truer with frank judg- 
ing of actions and words through her. . . . 
It is possible that I may not go to H. Falls at 
all next summer; and it is possible that I may 
spend some weeks there. 

This last she did. Among the 
verses of the first year were these, 
which she also copied atid sent to 
Kdnah ; indicating another mood of 
her young admirer : 


One with sad, wrinkled brow said unto me : 
" Why will thou strive, since Struggle is so 

vain ? 
Thou dost but fret and chafe thee with thy 
chain, — 
Thou canst not break it. No, — still waits for 

The common sorrow of mortality, — 
Restless to live, unsatisfied to die. 
Pining for freedom, and yet never free." 

" Yet will I never weep," calm answered I, 
" 15ut wreathe these heavy fetters round with 
And through my grated window from the sky 
Catch cheering glimpses of the heaven's great 
To shorten or to gladden my dull hours." 

And lo ! the prison walls bound me no more ; 
One breath of Hope has opened wide the 

Our correspondence was incessant, 
and the Exeter post-office gave the 
opportunity to mail and receive letters 
without exciting gossip. Something 
like valentines passed in February, 
and on the 24th she wrote to Ednah : 

May I talk to you of F. .-■ I find him mingling 
more and more in my life; find it daily more 

difticult to turn my thoughts from him. I 
believe he is dearer to me now than ever before. 
I hear often from him ; he writes two letters to 
my one, generally; is he not good? I said to 
to C, " I did not suppose Frank's pride would let 
him do that." "Ah," said she, " his pride is great, 
but his love is greater, and has quite overcome 
it." She has seen all the letters. F. thinks it 
not right to send them through her otherwise, 
and it is through him that it has been so. I told 
her I did nor dare to speak to him as warmly as 
I felt; that by great effort I had compelled my- 
self to answer quietly, when he had lavished love 
upon me. This is to show you that I am truer 
than I feared. . . His winter seems to be 
much to him ; he writes fully of his life out- 
wardly as well as inwardly. I can't well realize 
that the Frank who cuts wood all day in the 
pine woods " where the birds are not afraid to 
come, and where the crows fly so near that one 
can hear their wings creak and rustle as they 
hurry along ; and the sun shines through the 
trees, and over their tops at noon," is the same 
person who sits at night studying Greek, or talk- 
ing with me of Schiller and Emerson, Shelley 
and Plato ; doesn't it seem strange to you, too .' 
(March 19, 1851.) If it is finally decided that I 
do not go to H. Falls next summer, as seems 
likely now, I see no other way but for F. to come 
here in June. The excuse must be a pilgrimage 
to Monadnock, — not very difficult to see through, 
but sufficient to make no explanations necessary. 
I hate equivocation, but I am forced to it ; and 
if it is possible for F. to come, it would be 
possible for me to receive him. There is another 
way which may be open to me. I might go to 
H. F. and stay two or three weeks, spending 
only a fortnight with you at the beach. If any- 
thing should happen to prevent my being with 
your family, or if you were in Dublin, I should 
think this the best plan for me, apart from 
any thoughts of F. But if I went to H. Falls, 
I know busy tongues would say it was for F.'s 
sake, and report would occupy itself about 
us both. Should I hesitate for that ? What do 
you say ? 

There could be but one issue to all 
this ; the heart governs in such mat- 
ters, and I knew very early that her 
heart was mine. Nevertheless, there 
was the usual alternation of hope and 
fear, of jealousies and misunderstand- 
ings, out of which we always emerged 
with increased affection. I have 



never heard of a love more roman- 
tic and unselfish ; no permanent 
thought of ways and means, of foes 
or friends, came between us. I had 
been gifted with the power of winning 
friends without eflfort, — a gift that in 
her was carried to its highest point. 
She was beloved wherever she was 
seen, and had no enemy but her own 
self-accusing tenderness. Her life 

had inspired. Kmerson's " Hernii- 
one " pictured the process : 

I am of a lineage 

That each for each doth fast engage; 
In old Bassora's walls I seemed 
Hermit vowed to books and gloom, — 
111 bested for gay bridegroom. 
I was by thy touch redeemed ; 
When thy meteor glances came, 
We talked at large of worldly fate. 
And drew truly every tract. 

Peterborough in 1854. 

had been such as to arouse compas- 
sion for one so endowed, and so fet- 
tered by illness ; but that very afflic- 
tion had chastened her to a saintliness 
that was charmingly mingled with 
coquetry. "I love to be praised," 
she said ; "I love to be loved " ; and 
few were ever more beloved. By 
Heaven's direction her favor lighted 
on me ; and, as usual, she exagger- 
ated the qualities in me that herself 

It was so from the beginning 
with her. At her first visit to my 
town, years before I saw her, she 
wrote to a Boston friend: 

I reached Hampton Falls safely and found 
my friend Gate just tlie same — dear good girl! 
as ever, and professing herself very glad to see 
me. Here have I been, therefore, during the 
last week, living in true farmer-like style, with 
but two or three neighbors, and no village 
within three miles. The situation is a pleasant 
one. There is a pretty autumn landscape seen 




The " Little Wood Opposite." 

from the window at my side, whose gentle 
beauty does me good. There is much of bless- 
ing in Nature's silent sympathy. At night, toe 
we have a wide view of the glori'ous stars, which 
seem to have been peculiarly beautiful these last 
two evenings. I have thought of you all as I 
looked for my favorite constellations. Dear, 
you showed me the Scorpion, — you, Corny, Cas- 
siopeia, and Ednah the Pleiades. All these were 
visible last night, and I am glad I can never 
look upon them without thoughts of you; is it 
not a pleasant association. Here too (as every- 
where else), have I met much kindly sympathy. 
Strangers greet me like a long expected friend; 
rough, old farmers speak with a softened tone 
to the invalid stranger; and though the 
grasp of their hand be somewhat rough, it is full 
of heart-warmth, and, therefore very pleasant 
to me. One evening I had a treat which I had 
not anticipated here, — really good music. A 
pretty Mrs. Tilton* sang like a woodland bird, 
and with Cate's sweet low voice for a second, it 
was beautiful. I love music dearly, 2^\\Agood voices 

*This was Su.san Jordan from Boston, who had 
been living at the ."-ame farmhouse (now gone), 
one of the oldest in the township, but was now mar- 
ried to a neighbor-farmer; she was a protcgt-e of 
the late Dr. Henry Bowditch. and died in this ham- 
let, halfway from Kxeter to Hampton Falls village. 

are sweeter without an instrument than with it; 
so I did not miss the piano at all. 

This was written in the tame and 
lovely scenery of Hampton Falls, a 
few miles from the seashore, in which 
this lover of nature always delighted, 
and which she needed to visit every 
summer. Her own native region of 
swift streams and mountains she once 
described thus: 

Yesterday I walked out for the first time for 
a long season. (February 24, 1851.) I went on 
the snovvcrust into the grove by the river, part 
way over the steep hill; and rested on a great 
rock which juts out over a high bank, and from 
which I looked down into the water just below 
me. Great twisted pines grow out of this bank, 
huge old sons of the forest; and thro' their 
thick branches I could see the gleaming of the 
first fall, which was close to me. The river is 
beautiful now, very full and swift; not a brook, 
as it is in the summer, but a rapid, rushing 
river. The sunshine coming into where I was 
sitting, through the pines overhead, made a 
kind of checquered light on the snow, and bright- 
ened into rainbow colors the icicles which fell 



from the trees yesterday and lay still on the 
crust. Add to this a perfect stillness of the win- 
ter woods, broken only by the noise of the 
water; and you will have the best of my Sun- 
day. So much, darling, for the outward world. 
Our French progresses pretty well. Mr. Krone 
is my principal amusement; oh, that man! he is 
too funny for anything, as Mrs. Thompson 
would say. I have read the life of Dr. Chal- 
mers, which contains much that you would en- 
joy. I think, however, it is too long, a com- 
mon fault with Memoirs. He was a fiery spirit. 
T am reading Agassiz too. 

It was this house, in Grove Street, 
Peterborough, with its "little wood 
opposite" upon which her windows 
looked out, which is associated with 
her in my memory, and that of her 
surviving sister and her friends, — 
now alas! but few, out of the many 
who rejoiced in her love. The engrav- 
ing shows it much as it then was,— 
one of two houses built b)^ McKean, 
a skilful carpenter, about 1844, and 

both now owned by the Livingston 
family. But when we visited the 
Walkers there, it had a green bank 
sloping down to the river, unobstruct- 
ed by the railway and its apparatus; 
across the amber water was the flower- 
encircled cottage of Miss Putnam, the 
"Lady Bountiful" of thevillage then, 
who gave Putnam Park to the public, 
and preserved the fine trees on her 
terraced river bank. On the oppo- 
site side from this west front was the 
garden, — small but neatly kept, and 
blooming in the season with Anna's 
favorite roses; while the pine trees 
overhung the narrow street, and 
waved a sober welcome. 

This fac-simile of one of her small 
pages to Edna shows how she passed 
from one topic to another, in her let- 
ters; and how uncertain was her spell- 
ing and punctuation. In our four 

Residence oi Anna Walker. Gro>/e Street. 

Ravine and Caicade, PtterDorough. 



^^<^ /ri^^ 


z:^/ i-^^x-i-^ 



years' correspondence she never quite 
mastered the difficult spelling of Tues- 
day, — indeed, her education had been 
interrupted by frequent illness, and 
was desultory, though remarkable 
for the many fields into which it 
led her, in five languages, — English, 
Italian, French, German and Latin. 
But in the reading of human life and 
character she was unsurpassed, and 
that, as she told me, was her chief 
study. To quote again from "Her- 

tact with graces like hers, native 
and untaught, but lacking in nothing 
of the perfection of good breeding. In 
no company, high or low, was she ever 
out of place. She was the delight of 
every circle in which she moved; and 
would have been, had her range of 
experience been world-wide. Her 
praise and her blame were equally 
useful and courteous; the impatience 
of which she complained in herself, 
and which had been a fault of her 

The "Little Lake Near By." 

mione" (for Emerson was our daily 

library) : 

Once I dwelt apart; 

Now I live with all; 

As shepherd's lamp, on far hillside, 

Seems, by the traveler espied, 

A door into the mountain's heart, — 

So didst thou quarry and unlock 

Highways for me through the rock. 

To love this daughter of rural New 
Hampshire w^as more than "a liberal 
education," as Sir Richard Steele said 
of Lady Elizabeth Hastings; nothing, 
as mere intellectual training, was more 
stimulating and elevating than con- 

wayward childhood, was now trained 
to a fascinating caprice, which made 
her ever a surprise to her friends. In 
one of my visits, when she thought 
she was withdrawing herself into the 
cool grotto of friendship (which she 
kept saying was what she wished), 
suddenly she became as attractive as 
any of the Sirens, and I said to her, 
"Anna, how little I expected this; I 
did not even hope for it ; what has 
brought you into this dear mood? I 
never find you twice the .same ; when 
I think I have become sure of you, 



and accustomed to some phase of you, 
— thinking it to be you^ — suddenly 
you seem to me wholly other than 
I thought, and I feel as if I had never 
known you." Amid all these chang- 
ing moods, she never failed to be what 
the French quaintl}'' term attachaiite ; 
and it was of her own sweet will that 
she was so. Never, in a long life, — 
now half a century since her death, — 
have I found another so truly a woman. 

Meantime my actual education at 
school and college went on ; though I 
was often called away by the phases 
of her illness, which, like everything 
about her, was strange and unexpect- 
ed. From the depths of what seemed 
a mortal illness, and which no physi- 
cian thoroughly understood, she would 
rally to a hopeful prospect of full recov- 
ery. But at last the forces of nature 
and her will were exhausted; she 
gradually passed through the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death, and perished 
in my arms, August 31, 1854. We 
had been married eight days before, 
at her wish, and in her father's Peter- 
borough house, where I had attended 
all the changes of her last summer on 
earth, and done all that true love 
could do to make the pathway easier. 

It w^as long before I could return 
to my college studies; but she had for- 
seen and directed all that, and even 
provided in her will that I should study 

in Germany. Yet the pressure of the 
conflict between Freedom and Slavery 
in Kansas, after I had graduated at 
Harvard in July, 1855, kept me in 
America, and brought me into relations 
with one as remarkable among men, as 
she I had loved was among women — 
John Brown, of Kansas and Virginia. 
Of him and the events of his last three 
years my next chapter will treat. 

I have given much space to this 
four years' episode in my career, 
because I write for readers in New 
Hampshire. This romance of our 
lives was wholly of New Hampshire ; 
Boston was only an occasional scene 
for its development, when we met 
there at the houses of her friends or 
mine. Nearly all of them are now dead, 
— Mrs. Cheney, one of the last to pass 
away, after a long life of public and 
private usefulness. 

I have often said of my Ariana, — 
what Ivandor so modestly sung of his 
lanthe, — Jane Swift, — in that verse 
addressed to the River Swift: 

Thou mindest me of her whose radiant morn 
Lighted my path to love; she bore thy name; 

She whofii HO grace was tardy to adorn, 

W/iotn one lo7v 7'oice pleased tiiore than louder 

Or that perfect distich in honor of the 
same lantlie: 

Vita brevi fugitura! prior fugitura veniistas) 
Hoc saltern exiguo tempore diiret amor. 

\'ro be contiiiHC(1.\ 





This fire occasioned a financial loss of $160,000.00 ; it started in the Opera 
Block and consumed a number of other buildings, including two hotels. 
The Opera Block (shown in above cut) was a frame building covered with 
galvanized iron. The top floor was used by tenants who roomed there. 
Many of these tenants were compelled to jump from the fourth story win- 




dows in order to get out at all : one was killed and several were injured in 
so doing. There Was no Fire Escape on the Building. 

The Opera House had seats for 1,500, — or 400 more than White's Opera 
House in Concord. The alarm was sounded at 9.15 p. ni. Supposing that 
there had been a show in the Opera House that night, what do you think 
would have been the fatality in that case? It's simply appalling to think 
of. There are still left a plenty' of such buildings in this state, and there 
ought to be stringent ordinances to prevent the public use of such fire traps. 
It's nothing but luck that the loss of life was not 100, or more. 


Road Improvement in 

Some of Our Smaller Towns. 

Comparatively few people know of 
the work that has been done by some 
of the smaller towns in the state in way 
of building good roads and improving 
their village streets. Within a few 
years the town of Littleton had their main 
street all rebuilt. The street was wid- 
ened and straightened. New curbing 
was set where necessary, and between 
the curbing (which forms the edge of 
the sidewalk), the whole roadway was 
concreted with tar and gravel concrete. 
Now from the railroad depot, across the 
river, over a magnificent steel bridge, 
and down through Main street, is a 
good, wide concrete pavement. 

The town of Woodsville has also 
put in tar concrete the whole length of 
the Main street, and what was at one 
time a rough and, at times, a deep mud 
road, is now a smoother and beautiful 

Ashland and Meredith have recently 
improved their village streets by putting 
in a permanent pavement. Berlin has 
been rebuilding its main street this past 

Lancaster repaired its main street a 
few years ago by putting in crushed 

In 1903 Lisbon relaid its sewer sys- 

tem in part of the town, and this past 
summer has macadamized the main 
street and village square. They have 
converted a rough and worn-out old 
road into a modern improved road that 
it is a pleasure to do business on, and 
is a credit to the town. 

Many other instances of road im- 
provement in our smaller towns might 
be mentioned. This all goes to show 
the desire and determination of the peo- 
ple to have better roads in the state. 
This work is being started and done 
where, as it is thought, it will do the 
greatest good to the greatest number, 
and so it is, but from these beginnings, 
from these trunks as it were, will start 
the branches, and a little will be built 
from year to year until finally the roads 
improved will reach to the town lines, 
and good roads and a continuous sys- 
tem of good roads will be the result. 

It is a good sign to see the people 
waking up to the importance of better 
roads. The people will demand of their 
road agents better results for the money 
they are spending, and the time is sure 
to come when those who have to do with 
our road work, and who spend our 
money, must give something to show 
for it. The people will demand a road 
builder for road agent and not, as is 
now too often the case, a political 

Durham Library Association. 


Borrowers finding this book mutilated or unwar- 
rantably defaced, are expected to report it.